


Beyond Empty Lands

by Piccolo_is_green



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 34,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/pseuds/Piccolo_is_green
Summary: He won't be broken, and neither will she. They have that in common, at least. Bulma/Vegeta, AU drabble-fic.





	1. Vegeta

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
> 
> I'm in the process of shifting this over from fanfiction.net so that this fic exists and is updated simultaneously on both sites. If you're new to the story, welcome, and I hope you enjoy it. This fic was started in 2013 and is ongoing. 
> 
> \- Pic

**Vegeta**

_Year 749_

He is smirking, because the little Koribian's tits felt as good as they looked. She's the third girl he's fucked since turning seventeen some six months before, and for the first time in a long time he has something to look forward to. He'll see her again after this year-long solitary mission, and he'll fuck her long and hard and enjoy every minute of it.

He is halfway to the pod station when he first hears the screams. As he gets closer to his destination he begins to make out words: ' _Fuck you_ ' and ' _Fuck Frieza_ ' seem to be the most common, and he finds himself admiring the courage, if not the stupidity, of whoever owns the feminine voice that echoes down the halls.

They've clearly just dragged whoever-she-is in. As he reaches his pod he gets a glimpse of them all two bays over- four uniformed soldiers all working to restrain the single thrashing weakling in the middle of the group. Zarbon is overseeing it all, yelling "Do  _not_  break her!" over and over again, and the word 'mastertech' is thrown about by one or two bystanders. He catches a glimpse of bright blue hair and is tempted to go over to get a better look, but thinks twice about it. He is the Prince of Saiyans and some weak crying female is not worthy of his attention.

He climbs into his ship and tells himself that he is  _not_  avoiding another run-in with Zarbon.


	2. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 750_

She has stopped looking at herself in the mirror. A year on this ship has left her looking sallow and sickly. The standard tech clothing consists of nothing more than wide shoulder guards and a baggy white robe that covers her from the neck down. It makes her feel like shit, but at least the men here don't look at her like they used to.

She knows that it's partly to do with her hair. She's gone to great lengths to avoid Zarbon since he punished her for talking back. She runs her hand self-consciously over the short prickly fuzz that covers her scalp and wants to scream and cry in frustration. What pisses her off the most is that the bastard knew  _exactly_  how to get to her. Every time she sees her reflection she remembers the warmth of his breath on her freshly bare neck, the way he'd held all of those severed blue locks in front of her while whispering "Now who has the prettiest hair of all?" The fucked up, self-obsessed  _bastard_.

At least she has science. Now, like every day, she falls into her routine, getting lost in the data on her screen, in the blueprints for various devices. She finds joy in the feel of a tool in her hand, in seeing a piece of machinery come together. So far she has focused on making the medical equipment- regeneration tanks, life support systems, surgical machinery- more efficient. She avoids the question that routinely pops into her head- what will she do when she is asked to make weapons and torture devices?

She is terribly afraid of the answer.


	3. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 750_

It's been a week since he returned to the main ship, but he is yet to see the Koribian girl. It puts him in a foul mood- there are not many female soldiers on board to begin with, and none with a body like hers. That body has been on his mind many times in the past year, and he is itching to put what he has imagined into practice.

He doesn't enquire about her whereabouts, and in the end, he doesn't have to. Though he told no one about the tryst, Cui somehow knows, and takes every opportunity to rub that knowledge in his face during their less-than-friendly spar on the training deck.

"I bet she was a good fuck!" The amphibian bastard has him pinned face-down on the floor, and he can't reply. He swipes at Cui with his tail, but the bastard's too quick and he ends up thrown against the back wall instead.

"Shit, you're a weakling, Vegeta," Cui hisses, and his rubber lips pull back in a mocking smile. "No wonder she offed herself when she found out she was carrying your whelp. No one wants another fucking monkey running around here, after all."

Cui has always talked too much. He aims for the purple freak's mouth, and manages to burn off half of the bastard's face before he is hit hard in the gut, and the world fades away.


	4. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 750_

She strides quickly through the corridors, picking the path that soldiers frequent the least. When she climbs the stairwell leading onto the main deck, however, it becomes impossible to avoid Frieza's mercenaries. She keeps her head down and moves past them wordlessly, and the aliens- all shapes and forms and colours- ignore her.

It is a relief when she steps into the med bay. The door hisses closed behind her, and she is alone once more.

The job she's been assigned is another typical one. It seems that the muscle-bound morons on this ship are all too dense to open a regen tank properly. Every week she tends to at least twenty repair jobs in any of the fifty med bays scattered around the ship. When it's the glass panels on a tank that need repair she has to call in for assistance, which she hates, because it means dealing with the creepy Corshinan guy that has to sign off on the various equipment kept in storage in the bowels of the ship. Thankfully, it's only the control pad that's been messed with this time, and it's something she can easily manage herself.

The work is relatively simple, and it gives her time to think as she kneels on the floor, her fingers deftly reconnecting wires and replacing microchips. As of late she's begun a torturous game, replaying all of her favourite pop songs from Earth in her head as she works. It hurts to remember them and the rest of her old life, but it would hurt her more to forget. She's seen the way some of the other techs act; they're empty shells, mere shadows of the people they used to be. She's determined not to become one of them.

Her reverie is broken by the hiss of the door, and two huge soldiers wander in, the larger one carrying what she assumes is their injured comrade in their arms. She looks away quickly, but not quick enough to miss the blood pooling on the floor. That, accompanied with the overpowering stench of male sweat, makes her feel a little sick.

They don't notice her, preoccupied as they are with getting their bleeding buddy into the other tank in the room. She risks another glance at them and finds that they've already stripped the unconscious person and put the slumped body in the tank.

They're all of the same race- that much she can tell, despite the fact that one is bald while the other two vary in degrees of hairiness. She's seen the two conscious ones around the ship before, but she doesn't know what they are. They're humanoid, though, and something about the smaller of the two- who still stands around seven feet tall- seems unnervingly familiar.

Perhaps they feel her eyes staring at their backs, because both men turn suddenly to face her. Their dark eyes are striking in their intensity, and their expressions are mean. But the larger, bald one snorts and says "It's just a tech," and they both relax and turn away and she knows she is safe for now. She keeps her eyes focused on her work until she hears the door to the med bay hiss open again and their heavy footsteps leaving, the words ' _Don't know why he took on Cui…_ ' carrying back down the hallway. She sighs in relief.

When her work is complete she cannot help glancing into the murky green fluids of the tank in use. She blushes when she sees that  _yes_ , this third alien is also  _very_  male, and does her best not to stare at his nether regions after that.

He has been submerged in the tank for less than an hour, but already his wounds are almost healed. She knows she's playing with fire, endangering herself by lingering in a med bay so often used by soldiers, but the soft humming of the regen tank is calming, and she is mesmerized by the boy inside.

She realises now that they must be of a similar age, and she wonders why she hasn't seen him around before. She knows he must be dangerous, but in his current state he seems harmless. He is thin, but muscular, and his face is handsome, with high cheekbones and full lips and a widow's peak that she finds oddly attractive.

But it is the tail that truly captures her attention. It is brown and furry, and she's met a boy with one like that before. It doesn't make sense to categorize Goku with these alien men, but somehow she knows it's true. He had to have been one of them.

She leaves the room then, moving quickly down the corridors and stairwells once more, pondering just how the boy she once knew could fit into the equation. She remembers Goku alive, laughing at her from across a campfire, and then she remembers him dead, his eyes staring blankly up at nothing. She passes another tech in the hall, whose eyes still see yet stare with the same blankness of the dead, and she vows to herself that she will  _never_  forget who she is.

She is  _alive_ , though she is trapped in this hellhole flying saucer.

She still dreams of freedom.


	5. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 750_

He lies awake, listening to the restless noise of his subordinates as they sleep. Their quarters are hardly big enough to fit three grown Saiyans, but it is all they will ever have on this ship.

He is filled with a bitterness that eats at his insides. He is the Prince of all Saiyans, and yet he is nothing more than a glorified slave.

His own dreams haunt him, weaving false tales of Saiyan might and victory and freedom that only ever disappoint him. He dreams of his father's death often, though he never witnessed it.

He cannot remember his mother's face.

All these thoughts race around in his head until they blur together. He is exhausted, but sleep evades him. The night carries on, and the snores of his only subjects surround him.

He is trapped. He never had a chance. He never had a choice. Frieza toys with him constantly. Frieza killed the Koribian, he is sure. He is paranoid. He is…

"…  _she was carrying your whelp."_  They're Cui's words, but it is Frieza's voice he hears. Whether it is true or not, Frieza has succeeded once again. It's getting to him.

He longs for sleep, and it never comes.


	6. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 751_

It's not hard to pack; she has very little in terms of belongings, anyway. Her small amount of clothes- a week's worth of white underwear and tech robes- fits neatly into a single bag. She tucks it under her arm and takes a look around the tiny room that has been her only refuge in the past eighteen months.

 _Toiletries_. Remembering, she steps slowly through the small gap between the wall and the bed, careful not to scrape her shins on the metal edges of the cot as she makes her way into the basic bathroom. Toothbrush, toothpaste and tampons go from the top cabinet shelf to the bag. She hesitates, and then picks up the comb that's sat untouched for nearly six months. It goes in the bag, too.

She looks in the mirror, and someone she hardly recognizes stares out at her. This person is too thin; her cheekbones jut out in a way that isn't at all flattering. There are dark circles around her eyes. Her blue hair- only two inches long- is messy and unattractive.

She looks again, her eyes narrowing critically. She bites her bottom lip, and then her top one, until they are a rich pink. She squeezes her cheeks and watches as the colour floods into them. She takes her comb, brushes her hair and makes it sit in a way that looks right.

She's still wearing the shapeless tech uniform. She grabs a bunch of white fabric at the waist, pulls it behind her until her figure is visible beneath the cloth. She's grown since she was taken from Earth; her breasts are full and her hips are wide, and with the robe pulled back like this it almost looks good, like some exotic Egyptian gown with the wide neckpiece and shoulder guards jutting out in navy blue and brown.

She feels attractive.

She lets the fabric go and it falls back into place, becoming a shapeless curtain around her once more. But she feels better, like she's remembered something important. She looks into the mirror and thinks  _That's me_.

She leaves the small room behind, bag in hand. Everyone on board is departing here, and she falls into line amongst the other techs and medical personnel. They shuffle slowly down flights of stairs until they reach the bottom level. There's a bright light at the end of the corridor, and for the first time in so long she feels a breeze on her skin as air whistles through the open door.

She steps down the ramp, drinking in the sight of the planet around her. It's brown and grey and ugly, but there is  _dirt_  under her boots and it feels  _so good_. She waits in line with the others until it is her turn to be called by a low-lever soldier. Stepping forward, she gives him her outstretched arm. He's rough, and she winces as he twists her arm over, moving a small scanning device back and forth over the inside of her elbow. It beeps as it picks up the microchip embedded under her skin, and she watches as her information is relayed to him through his green scouter screen.

"Report to lab 359," he grunts, and she is shoved towards the milling crowd of techs. Most soldiers from the ship have already moved on, and she spots only a few in the distance.

She looks around once more, taking in details this time. The huge skyscrapers before her are alien in design, bulbous things in pink and white. They stretch towards a sky shrouded in grey cloud, blocking much of the natural light so it is as if the whole world is covered by shadows.

She's been told she'll be based here on Frieza 71 for at least a year. Frieza himself will only stay on the planet for a week. After that, many of the techs and soldiers and servants- including Zarbon- will leave with him again. That in itself is a relief.

She steps forward, and though she is concerned about her future, she is thankful to leave the ship behind.


	7. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He has been at death's door many times in his twenty one years, and he no longer fears this feeling. He knows, even as the thrash of Frieza's tail tears into his flesh, that he will soon be immersed in healing fluid, for there is a med bay only two doors down on the ship's main deck.

He knows that this beating will be worth it, for all his suffering at Frieza's hands will ultimately lead to the bastard's demise. Saiyans grow stronger with every near death experience, and so he grits his teeth through the pain, knowing that every hit he takes brings him closer to becoming the Legendary.

He does his best to endure without sacrificing his pride. After every fall he gets back up again, and when his legs no longer move under him he still glares defiantly as if his body is not broken.

Another kick to the gut has him vomiting blood, but he grins through his red-stained teeth, because he's spewed on Frieza's feet, and will take that as a victory. He laughs and receives a blow to the head that leaves him seeing nothing but darkness. He hears Frieza's voice ordering Nappa, though it seems so very far away.

His vision returns as Nappa carries him out of Frieza's throne room. They pass through the adjoining antechamber, and his gaze falls upon a woman. Her bright blue eyes are wide with shock as she watches him. He flashes a red manic smile; a warning that she may be next. Nappa turns the corner, and she's gone.


	8. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 753_

She can't stand to be back in her old room – the same room she was given when she was first taken from Earth – and so she opts to eat her dinner in the empty lab. There seems to be far less techs on board this time, and it makes her nervous. She wishes, fervently, that she was back on Frieza 71, sitting underneath the overcast sky rather than in this darkened room.

She stirs the gruel around on her plate, picking up spoonfuls of the lumpy goo and dropping them back into the mixture. She has no appetite tonight and is certain she can't stomach the stuff after all she's seen in the day.

Plate set to the side, she leans her head against the window beside her, staring out at the blackness of space. She is exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She feels sick, feels the stress choking her from the inside, the fear wrapping around her very core. She was so numb the first time she was here – too shocked from all that had happened on Earth to do nothing but follow orders – but that was years ago.

That numbness is gone. She feels as if so much has been stripped away from her, layers and layers, leaving her raw and exposed. She closes her eyes, and her memory of the day comes flooding back.

_Blood, covering the floor, covering Frieza's feet. Frieza's cruel smile, red irises piercing her as he listens to her report on weapon development. His voice, asking so casually, can she handle his latest project? The torment within her – the desire to say no, she won't do it, she can't do it, it's wrong. Her steely voice, cool and calm, her simple "Yes, Lord Frieza," ringing clear._

_Frieza's laugh as her knees buckle under the pressure of the ship taking off. Her realisation, as she sits in the middle of the throne room in the puddle of bloody vomit spilt by his last victim, that they are leaving Frieza 71 for good._

_The crushing thought that she is nothing but a pawn in this tyrant's game._

She blinks and tears roll silently down her cheeks. She is not the kind to give up and die – she's been through too much shit already to give in now – but she grieves for the innocence she has lost. She is as guilty as any of the soldiers on board, for she will never refuse Frieza's quests. She'll build him his device, just as she built him his guns and his bombs, his murderous tools for the masses that swear allegiance to him. She has chosen her life over others.

Her food has gone cold, and she throws the entire plate in the bin, swinging her legs around and off the bench she's been sitting on as she does so. She gasps as she looks to the door; there is a figure shrouded in the darkness, watching her. She stands frozen as he steps out of the shadows towards her, the handsome face, dark eyes and hair becoming clear.

She recognises him at once. Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince, the boy she watched heal all those years ago, the man she saw beaten and bloodied today. It was his blood that she knelt in as she bowed before Frieza, though he is fully healed now, and stalking towards her. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at her, and she has the distinct feeling that he considers her easy prey.

"You're Frieza's new favourite tech." It is a sneered statement, an accusation. She shifts, standing taller against his scrutiny, and meets his gaze head on, though her heart is thrumming wildly. She is thankful, at least, that they are the same height. She purses her lips and returns his glare as his words register.

 _A tech_. She hates being called that. She has a name, though hardly anyone ever bothers to use it. "My name is Bulma," she says, fighting the urge to squirm under his direct gaze.

He snorts derisively, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. "What's your latest project?"

The question surprises her enough that she steps back, stunned for a moment. "That's… that's confidential information," she replies, disliking the sudden look in his eye. In the four years since her abduction she has not once been questioned by a soldier like this. They're not supposed to care about her work.

He takes another step towards her, and she moves back instinctually. Her backside hits the wall behind her; a moment later she is trapped as he braces his arms against the wall on either side of her.

He's close enough that she can smell him, all male and testosterone, and her heart beats faster again. Her eyes focus on his full lips as they pull into a mocking smile. "Perhaps I should beat it out of you?"

"What, like Frieza beat you today?" she bites out, her voice all venom as she does her best to translate fear into anger. He pulls back with a snarl, and though he hides it quickly, she knows she's hit a nerve.

"I have to go," she hisses, and surprisingly, he lets her pass, their shoulders brushing ever so briefly. The contact makes her shiver as she strides quickly across the room, resisting the urge to run. His eyes are on her – she can feel it – and even after she is down the hall and locked inside her room the chill on her spine remains.

She forces herself to take deep breaths, leaning against the inside of the door until the feeling dissipates. When she feels calm enough she pulls her shoulder guard off over her head and drops it on the floor, slipping her white tech robe off a moment after. Fingers shaking, she removes her bra and throws it on the bed, staring at the white underwire as if it is a bomb, or a loaded gun.

With a sigh she sits on the bed and picks up the offending underwear. There is a bulge in the wide elastic band, just beneath the two cups. She lifts the little flap on the pocket she has sewn, and removes the miniature capsule hidden inside. It sits, tiny, within the centre of her palm; a technology that Frieza and his men thankfully never discovered when they razed her home to the ground.

"What's your latest project?" she whispers to herself, quoting the Saiyan.


	9. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He wakes with a gasp, the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. He does his best to calm his breathing, to ease his body back towards sleep, but his dick throbs painfully, and whatever self control he had seems to have disappeared.

He is thankful that the room is empty, for the need for release is at breaking point, and it takes no more than a few jerky movements before he spills himself into a fistful of bedding. With a groan he buries his face in his pillow, trying to shut out the scenes from his dream. Blue eyes seem to stare up at him from beneath his closed eyelids, and his eyes spring open in an attempt to block the image of the tech kneeling before him.  _It has been too long_  is the first coherent thought that runs through his head.  _It has been far too long, and I need a fuck_.

He's still hard. He stares at the far wall, his mind torn as he replays his talk with  _Bulma_. He had not expected the rumoured mastertech to be some pretty little female, had not expected any tech to stand before him like she did, with anger and pride and determination burning in her eyes.

Her scent alone was enough to drive him mad with need.

He snorts in derision at his body's weakness. It's been six months since he's taken a woman to bed, but that's no excuse for lusting after the weakling bitch who refused to bow to his demands and assaulted his pride.

_Blue hair falling around her face… Bright eyes staring as she wraps around him…_

"Fool," he tells himself, banishing the last remnants of the dream, and rolls over.

. . .

When he wakes in the morning, his mind is clear. He'll find out what exactly the tech is building for Frieza. If it's the devices he's heard rumours about, he'll kill her. In fact, he'll kill her even if her 'confidential' projects turn out to be nothing. Murder is his specialty, after all.

A woman like her is a distraction he doesn't need.


	10. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 753_

The skin on the nape of her neck prickles. She glances behind her, but there's no one else in the corridor.  _You're paranoid_ , she tells herself, but her pace quickens regardless. There isn't a single place on this ship where she feels truly safe, but this section is the worst, tucked away in the bowels of the craft on the opposite side from her lab. If she hadn't received a direct order to fix the training equipment stored here she would have never stepped foot on this deck.

She glances behind her once more and her breath catches in her throat – there is a dark shadow of someone thrown against the tiled floor, though their body is hidden by the curve of the corridor walls. Her pulse quickens and sweat breaks out on her palms. She hates this fear, but she knows better than to ignore it.

She can hear their footsteps now, matching hers, growing faster. Another glance confirms her worst nightmare – the soldier following her is a brute, one of the Gripfrobs that are known for their manic ways. She's seen this one before, staring at her with his yellow eyes from across the crowded mess hall. She knows what he's capable of.

"Hey darling," he calls out. His raspy sniggers echo in the corridor, crawling on her skin. She walks faster, ignoring him, eyes searching for any form of escape ahead. His heavy footsteps continue behind her.

She grabs at the chain around her neck, hidden under her neck scarf, and yanks at the small capsule that she has disguised as a simple trinket. After her run-in with the Saiyan she's taken extra precautions to protect herself, and with shaky fingers she twists open the metallic pill, activating the capsulization process. There is a hiss, and a small ki gun of her own design appears in her hands.

The soldier continues to stalk behind her.

There is a side corridor ahead, and she recalls that there is an elevator here. She resists the urge to run until she sees the green light above the elevator door, signifying that the lift is available and waiting.

She breaks into a sprint, darting down the corridor and slamming her hand down hard on the button to open the elevator door. The half second it takes to open is agonizing; as soon as she can fit through the gap she is in and hitting the close button, mashing her fingers against the controls to send the lift to a higher floor. The door hisses and begins to shut, but the Gripfrob's dark red hand appears in the small open space and a scream catches in her throat as she watches him slowly pry the door open with talon-like fingers.

She backs herself into the corner as the Gripfrob steps inside the tiny room, holding the gun out in front of her with both hands. She does her best to look like she means business, but she's trembling. " _Don't_ ," she says. The gun in her hand clicks and hums quietly, charging a shot.  _Fuck_  she thinks,  _fuck fuck fuck_. It's taking too long, far too long.

His cracked lips pull back in a mocking smile, revealing rows upon rows of needle-like teeth that glint threateningly. "Girly," he says, taking another step forward, close enough for her to see the individual scales on his maroon skin. "I'm going to have fun with you." His hands fumble at his crotch as he shuffles forward. "Put the toy away, sweetheart."

She pulls the trigger, and the force of the shot slams her hard against the back wall, the gun falling from her hands. The soldier screams and black blood bubbles out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. He lunges forward, his clawed hands scrabbling at her neck, choking her. She pushes desperately against him, and her hands slip into the wet warm mess where his chest should be. "Bitch," he hisses as he slumps to the ground, claws tearing at the skin on her shoulder as he goes. His pointed teeth gnash together in a silent scream, slowing, slowing, until the movement stills entirely.

His yellow, unseeing stare is haunting in its finality. There is a great red hole in his chest where his armour failed to protect him, and the stink of loosened bowels fills the air. She stares at the mess around her, mouth open and chest heaving from the adrenaline rush.

The room seems to lurch, and the elevator chimes. She looks up and faces another yellow stare, though this time it comes from Zarbon. He looks her up and down, a frown marring his handsome features, and she feels as if she is having an out of body experience. He says her name, though she hardly hears it over the ringing in her ears.

"My God, what have you done?" he asks. The ringing is now a buzz, a swarm of wasps in her head. Zarbon's face swims before her in a pool of green, and then disappears entirely.


	11. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He stands before Frieza, Nappa and Raditz flanking him on either side. His fists are balled tightly, his jaw clenched as he endures the many insults thrown his way. The word  _monkey_  is enough to make the fur on his tail stand on end. Frieza knows this, and makes the most of the opportunity he has.

Frieza's little speech is cut short by the hiss of the door, and they all turn their heads as Zarbon strides in, half-dragging the mastertech woman –  _Bulma_  – behind him. Her white uniform is covered in black blood, and the stench of death fills the air. She glances at him for a moment, her eyes half-wild, her face and hair splattered with gore, before she jerks her head away. He watches, his mind still trying to process what he is seeing, as her expression changes to that of a blank mask. She wrenches her arm out of Zarbon's grip and stands tall, her shoulders back. He hears Raditz snort behind him as she dares to look Frieza in the eye.

He doesn't miss the way that Frieza's tail twitches in agitation. " _What_  is the meaning of this?" the lizard asks, glaring over the woman's head at Zarbon.

"She killed one of the soldiers, sire." Zarbon gestures to the small object in his hand. "With this gu –"

"It's a prototype, Lord Frieza," she interrupts. Her voice is clear and strong, and echoes through the room. The look on Zarbon's face is priceless; one of complete shock. He must think the girl is suicidal. Perhaps she is.

If she wanted the full force of Frieza's glare, she has it. She endures it without speaking, though he notices the way the hand at her side trembles. She looks pale, a sickly white that highlights the black blood on her face. He recognizes the stench of it now – it's that of a Gripfrob.  _She's killed one of the soldiers_. He doesn't believe it _._

Frieza's eyes narrow. "Bring me that weapon, Bulma."

She nods once, and takes the tiny gun from Zarbon's hand. Her arm is steady as she steps forward holding the weapon outstretched an unsuspecting lamb for the slaughter. Frieza's tail is around her neck in an instant, the air wheezing out of her as she is lifted from the floor. The gun falls to the ground, rattling noisily against the cold tiles.

The woman's hands grab at the tail for a moment, her legs kicking pathetically. "A soldier is expensive to replace, Bulma," Frieza says, waving one finger at her as if she were a child. " _Naughty_ girl _._ "

She does nothing but gurgle in reply, and Frieza laughs, his tail suddenly unraveling so that she falls to the floor in a heap. She lies face down, wheezing, and gasping for air, a bent little ball on the floor.

"What improvements need to be made to the gun?" Frieza waits for only a moment before repeating himself, his voice shrieking this time. " _WHAT IMPROVEMENTS NEED TO BE MADE TO THE GUN, YOU PATHETIC CHILD?!_ " The woman flinches, her shoulders hunching towards the floor.

"It charges slowly," she croaks, her voice breaking. "It can only fire one shot per ten seconds… not… it's not effective. I can improve the design."

Frieza stares at her for a moment. " _Tch._  Next time you will let me know before you choose to test out your designs. I can organize the subjects. I'm sure the monkeys would make good targets."

He doubts very much that the woman could make anything strong enough to pierce his skin, but she nods pathetically, wheezing out a "Yes, Lord Frieza."

Frieza's eyes turn this way, red irises piercing as they land on him. "Get her out of here." He doesn't need to be told twice; he moves forward swiftly, grabbing at the woman by the back of her dress. She whines and reaches weakly for the gun – he grabs this too and turns, dragging her and he heads for the door. He has no desire for Frieza to put him in a tank again.

Nappa and Raditz follow closely behind. They stride down the hall, past staring techs and into the nearest elevator. He lets go of the woman as the door closes; she stumbles back against the wall, her blue eyes wide.

"Give me my gun." Her voice is hoarse, and she grits her teeth, breathing heavily. Her neck is red and swollen, dark bruises already beginning to form.

He snorts, smirking. If this little debacle of hers has shown him one thing, it's that she's too valuable for Frieza to kill. It's more than enough proof that she is developing the weaponry – the ki-draining technology – that he has suspected.

"Why should I?" he asks, holding the gun between his gloved hands. She flinches as his fingers hover over a small button on the side of the weapon, and he pauses, his lips pulling back in a wolfish grin as he looks at her.

"What?" he asks. "You don't want me to push this? Will it shoot?" He aims the weapon at her wide-eyed face, chuckling. How easy. He could shoot her dead here in the elevator and pretend it was an accident, that her pathetic little gun went off in her hands. Frieza's ki-drainers would never be built, then. "Keep the door closed," he tells Raditz over his shoulder.

She is frozen in shock as he presses down on the button. The entire weapon disappears, and he grunts as a tiny pill drops from between his hands to the floor. He stares at it for a moment, unable to comprehend what just happened.

His eyes meet hers, bright blue like the seas of Xitha 9. They close, her entire body sighing in resignation. When her eyes open again they show nothing but determination. She steps forward, and he is frozen as she encroaches on his personal space  _in front of his men_ , her chest pressing against his as her head leans forward so that her lips brush at his ear.

"This elevator's bugged," she whispers quietly, "but there's no camera. Frieza doesn't know about the capsule technology.  _He can't know_." She pauses, her body trembling against his, her breath feathering across his neck. "I want him dead," she says.

She steps back swiftly, bending to pick up the fallen pill. It sits in the palm of her hand that is still stained with dried blood. She pinches the object between her fingers, twists it, and in an instant her weapon appears in its place, falling into her open hands.

She tucks this down the front of her chest plate, before looking up at Nappa. "Can you press the button for the L-deck?" she asks, a little too loudly.

Nappa looks to him, and all four in the elevator stare at each other in an odd impasse. He nods, once, and Nappa presses the 'L' button. The elevator jumps slightly as it begins to move.

Seconds later the bell chimes, and the woman steps forward. His arm shoots out to grab her around the waist before he even knows what he's doing. He leans forward, until his nose is buried in her long blue hair. "You are going to explain all of this," he hisses in her ear before shoving her out the door.

The door closes behind her, leaving the stench of dead Gripfrob in the air. "Ho-ly  _fuck_ ," Raditz says. He and Nappa would have heard all that she said, and the implication of this is something that he needs to consider.

"Indeed," he replies, staring at the closed door.


	12. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 753_

At times she cannot bear the silence of her room. It's too quiet, and in the dark of night she feels the panic rise, as if the walls are whispering to her in the shadows, as if Frieza knows what she's hiding.

But he doesn't, and when she wakes from another nightmare she refuses to let her fear of him destroy her will to fight back. The light switches on, as does the tablet she keeps hidden away in her capsule, and she sweeps the room for bugs once more. Only then can she fall back into a more peaceful slumber, the paranoia held at bay for another night. She is alone, and no one is listening.

Sometimes sleep evades her. Her thoughts turn to the Saiyans, and her sleep-deprived mind blurs together all her memories of Vegeta; the sound of his snarl, the smell of his skin, that  _electric_  feeling when her lips brushed against his ear in a whisper, and the tight snare of his arm around her waist. She has not spent more than ten minutes in his company, and yet there is  _something_  there between them, an attraction despite all that he is, and the thought of this scares her. She cannot allow herself to let her guard down.

It has been two months since that day with the Gripfrob, when all her plans – and her life – almost unravelled before her eyes. In that time she has had no contact with the Saiyans; they have been on another mission, destroying another society, wiping out another race. They are monsters, like Zarbon, like Frieza.

But they have not betrayed her – there has been no mention of her capsule technology to anyone – and she is in need of allies if she is to ever destroy Frieza.

She pulls her blankets tighter around her shoulders, and buries down in her bed, determined to get some sleep. The Saiyans are due back tomorrow, and she knows a confrontation with Vegeta is inevitable.

. . .

Knowledge is power, and she has read as much as she can about the Saiyans, trawling over their personal files, memorising every scrap of information that each one holds. Vegeta is intelligent, Nappa is a loyal brute, and Raditz once had a brother, named Kakarot, who was sent to Earth as a baby.

It is this knowledge that causes her to stare when she spots the Saiyans across the mess hall. For once she opts to stay and eat her dinner there, huddled against the wall, sneaking glances through the veil of her long blue hair. She doesn't notice the taste of the bland food in front of her, eating on autopilot as she compares Raditz' movements to her memories of Son Goku.

They catch her watching them, and she ducks her head down, focusing on her plate as three pairs of black eyes bore into the top of her head. She risks one last glance and meets Vegeta's cool gaze, her skin suddenly hot beneath her loose clothing.

She can't bear to sit there any longer. She rises, leaving her unfinished meal, and heads towards the door. Ahead of her the Saiyans continue to eat their food, inhaling plate after plate, ignoring her approach. It is only as she passes them that a meaty hand reaches out, shoving something small and crumpled at her. For a moment her heart skips a beat, before pumping again with an almighty thud that echoes in her ears. Her pulse drums double-time as she continues out the mess hall and into the corridor, the small piece of tissue that Nappa handed her held tight under her ribcage. She feels as if she is holding a live fuse.

She waits until she is back in her room before she risks looking at it, carefully unfolding the napkin, her heart caught in her throat as she reads the messy scribble in standard.

_Engine room. Midnight._

Her palms are sweaty, and the paper is damp in her hands. It seems that an alliance has begun.


	13. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He waits alone in the engine room, listening to the constant whir of the machinery around him. The sound disturbs him more than it should, and a stray shiver runs down his spine. In an instant of vulnerability he allows his tail to unfurl, his fur standing on end as the chill runs through his body as he remembers that there is nothing but a few inches of metal between the room he is in now, and the cold death of space outside the ship.

He has spent the majority of his life aboard spacecraft, but Saiyans were never made to be confined. He itches for freedom whenever he is trapped in the same ship with Frieza, knowing too well that the bastard can survive in the vacuum of space – a place that he cannot. It is a cold reminder of his mortality, the disturbing reality of his situation. He will never be free until Frieza is dead, but the power the Cold wields is still too far above his own. Until he is a Super Saiyan, he is useless against Frieza.

The mastertech –  _Bulma_  – is another factor to be considered in all of his plans for Frieza's demise. He needs to know what technology she is creating, and  _who_  she is crafting it for. He has had two months to contemplate what he witnessed in the elevator – capsule technology, she called it – and all the implications it could have. How many weapons, poisons, food, equipment could be stored that way? It irritates him that one small woman could mean the difference between his success and failure; that she may have already provided Frieza with ki drainers that could seal his fate, or worse, that she will have something he needs to defeat Frieza. He does not like having to rely on others for his survival.

He curls his tail back around his waist, listening as tell-tale footsteps signal her arrival. Torch light flashes against the wall as she rounds the corner, cutting through the dark of the room. He steps forward, into the beam, and hears her gasp in response.  _Good._

She squints at him, and he can smell her fear. But she holds her head high, as she did when facing Frieza, and does not hesitate to speak. "You wanted to meet with me," she states, her voice calm, though he can hear the quickness of her breath. For a moment he's tempted to mess with her, to really bring out that fear, but thinks better of it.

Instead he says "This way," and turns to lead her into a secluded part of the vast engine room, where the huge pistons that pump continuously with shroud them from the view of anyone who happens to wander in. He's brought women here before, though never for this purpose. "They won't see us from the door."

She follows him silently, and once behind the screen of equipment she shuts off her torch. He watches as she braces herself back against the wall, taking a small pill out of her pocket. With a twist the pill in her hands becomes a small tablet, her eyes squinting against the light of the screen as she sets it down on a spare barrel, her fingers flying deftly across the surface.

"Tell me about this caps – " he begins, but she cuts him off with a quick "Shhh!" and a wave of her hand. He growls under his breath at her insolence, but takes a step closer so that he can peer over her shoulder at the tablet screen. She holds up one finger, signalling  _wait_ , and he frowns at the foreign language that scrolls across the screen. He's never seen a writing system like this one before.

The tablet emits a small beep, and her shoulders relax, the lessoning of tension visible in the way she turns her head towards him, a small smile playing on her lips. "There are no wires anywhere near here," she whispers, "so we're safe for now."

"Hn," he snorts, angry at himself for failing to consider such a thing. "I don't see why Frieza would bug the engine room, of all things."

"On the contrary, he's bugged it before. I  _heard_  it used to be the go-to place for hook-ups on board – and Frieza likes to know what's going on in his ship." There is a teasing tone to her voice; she looks at him knowingly as she says this, as if she knows all of his secrets, and he feels a sudden rage bubble forth. He will not allow some  _tech_ to mock him, and his hands have her pinned back against the wall in an instant, his nose pressed to hers as he snarls in her face.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he hisses.

"N – nothing!"

"Bullshit! What do you know?" he snarls, shaking her by the shoulders for emphasis. Her teeth clatter together, and she grunts, attempting to butt him in the head. He steps back, dropping his arms, glaring at her in the dim light of the tablet, left discarded on the barrel. She glares back, chest heaving as she takes gasping breaths, the light giving her features a sharpened look. With that face, she looks downright dangerous.

"You should be more careful," she bites out, all humour gone from her voice. "Frieza and his favourites keep a close eye on everyone, including you. I read your file. He's caught you on camera here before – with a girl, years ago. She fell pregnant. He had her killed for it."

He feels the blood drain from his head at this revelation, his ears ringing, his chest constricting, squeezing the air from his lungs. It's not about the Koribian girl, though he remembers suddenly the way her body felt so good in his hands, and the way she would clutch at him with a tenderness he'd never known before. No, it is the confirmation of everything that he has ever suspects him that rocks him to the core; Frieza has been watching him for years – more so than he ever thought – and that thought alone is enough to make him feel trapped, used, and panicked.

The woman before him shifts, shuffling her feet as her expression softens. "There are no cameras or wires here tonight. His surveillance tends to move around the ship – they only focus on one area at a time. No one is listening now."

"And what would you have done if you had found that they were watching tonight?" he hisses, his tail unfurling to curl in angry waves behind him.

"Found the bug and destroyed it," she answers, straitening her neck guard. "They're not monitored live – I could have interrupted the sound and video bites, made it look like a malfunction. They'd never know." She pauses for a beat, before adding, "I've done it before."

"And you trust me enough to come here today." His tail catches on something behind him with a  _thud_ , and pieces of equipment clatter on the ground.

"What choice do I have?" she laughs bitterly. "You could have ratted me out months ago, and you didn't. I can't move forward without… without  _help_ ," she bites out. Her eyes shift, meeting his gaze directly. "And neither can you."

It's easy to get caught in that blue stare. "Explain," he demands, and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Frieza is getting impatient – he wants me to finish my current project for him. It's very important that I don't, but if I continue to drag my feet he'll probably kill me."

"I'm guessing the project isn't your little toy gun."

She pauses, picking up her tablet. "No," she whispers, and takes a reluctant step towards him. "It's ki-draining technology – to begin with, at least. He wants me to look at technology that can  _increase_ ki, too. Biomechatronics, android armies, cloning… he wants all of that." On her little screen she pulls up an image of what must be a prototype for the ki-drainer, a nasty looking collar in charcoal grey.

Standing this close, he can smell more than just the fear on her, though there is plenty of that. She catches him watching her, and her blue eyes widen, deep pools that still seem so  _alive_ , despite her current captivity.

Her tongue darts out of her mouth to wet her bottom lip, and he thinks, suddenly, that it would be so easy to lean in and taste that lip with his own tongue. She is, more than anything else, a beautiful woman.

But he has no time for foolish thoughts, and instead settles on a solution that is entirely practical. "What's to stop me from killing you now? If you're dead, Frieza will never have his ki drainers. Perhaps I should break your neck, and save myself any further trouble."

He sees the shiver that runs through her, but rather than cowering at his words, she seems to steel herself against them, standing tall, shoulders back, her eyes piercing in their intensity. "That's not your best option. I'm not the only scientist working on this goal – I  _know_ Frieza has someone else, but he's got them hidden away on Frieza 5, and they're working independently. For all we know, they could be finishing up their version of the ki-drainers now.

"Besides, you're going to want me to stick around, if you're going to have any chance at defeating Frieza. Think about all the training technology I could create for you, and all the files you'll be able to access if I'm around. Hell, perhaps Frieza will end up trapped with a ki-drainer around his neck?"

"Your capsule technology – "

"It allows me to hide a lot of stuff under Frieza's nose – but working like this is not sustainable. It's too risky, and I can't dedicate enough time to the projects that I need to be working on. The longer I stay here, the more Frieza will expect from me. You're running out of time."

He growls under his breath, his mind running through the implications of what she is saying. "You want to escape," he states.

"I want to destroy Frieza," she replies, her tone dark enough to ignite a fire within his own belly. "I want to take him and his family down. I want to see Zarbon beg for mercy. So yeah, I want to escape. I need to, or I'll be trapped here forever. I suggest you think about doing the same."

He doesn't like her telling him what to do. He likes the idea of working with her even less. If she were Saiyan – if she had been equipped with the same sense of loyalty to him as his men have – than perhaps he would feel different. Yet for all of her brave talk, he knows she is in need of help – without him, she has no hope of escaping Frieza alive.

He can feel Frieza's noose tightening around his own neck. He  _is_  running out of time.


	14. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 754_

The lab is silent around her, the only sound the hiss of the solder in her hands as it connects with wire and metal, binding these together until the  _thing_  in her hands is no longer just any object, but her creation, her weapon against Frieza. At this hour, when all other techs are sleeping, she can almost imagine that this is her father's old lab at home, and that she is not trapped in this nightmare of an existence.

The endless pressure of being Frieza's pet mastertech has had few benefits, but one has been her ability to wield some control over the environment in which she works. Since her first meeting with Vegeta, she has opted to work through the artificial 'nights' on board the ship, taking her 8 hours of allocated rest during the day. The solitude of the midnight hours has given her the opportunity to work on her personal projects without arousing suspicion, and she has been able to accomplish more in the last four months than she has in the year before that.

This productivity is due in part to her new – albeit reluctant – alliance with the Saiyans. Though it disturbs her to know that her future rests so heavily in the hands of three bloodthirsty aliens who are famous for their violent tempers, she knows she has made the right decision. To work with Vegeta and his men – to escape Frieza's clutches – is far better than the alternative. Without the Saiyans, she wouldn't have access to half of the materials she needs to leave.

They are almost ready to put everything they have planned into place, and she allows herself a small, nervous smile as she snaps the casing of a scouter back into place. This one is hers, the glass eyepiece sky-blue in homage to her purged home planet.

She has prepared four scouters, one for each of them. They run on their own frequency, undetectable by any of the equipment Frieza has available. She tucks them safely into the capsule box she has created, along with her small selection of weapons and other equipment. Once capsulized and hidden in her pocket, she allows herself time to relax, turning her attention back to the data she is forging to satisfy Frieza of her 'progress' for another month.

If all goes to plan, she will be long gone before Frieza even looks at the file.

. . .

The minutes drag on as she waits for Vegeta to appear in the depths of the engine room, but it is to no avail. After an hour of waiting in the dark bowels of the ship, she has no choice but to conclude that something has gone wrong, and that she needs to leave. They will have to reschedule their final meeting.

She tucks the small infochip she has prepared for the Saiyans back into her bra – the only truly secure place she has to keep anything – and makes her way out of the engine room, walking quickly through the halls that lead out of the basement area. She takes the stairs, jumping two at a time, unable to shake the sudden chill that settles at the base of her spine. Even on L Deck, where the halls glow under the fluorescent lights, the feeling that someone is watching her remains, and she hurries to return to the lab.

"Bulma."

She jumps, whirling around to confront the voice that has called her from an adjacent hallway, only to come face to face with Zarbon. He grins down at her, his pretty face doing nothing to hide the menacing look in his eyes. She takes in the red blood that coats the front of his armour and drips from his right hand, and her breath hitches. Mammals have red blood, and the only other mammals are on board are the Saiyans.

She does her best to compose herself, taking a step back so that she can look Zarbon in the eye without craning her neck. "I'm working, Zarbon. Have a good night."

She turns, intent on holing herself back up in the lab, but Zarbon's strong grip on her shoulder prevents her from moving any further. "I never took you for a nocturnal creature," he states, jerking her back around to face him. "Why the sudden change?"

She lurches back, stepping back out of his grasp once more, and does her best to keep her voice calm, despite her hammering heart. "I get more work done without the company of other techs," she hisses, burying her hands in the folds of her gown to stop her from running them back through her hair – a nervous habit she has developed over the years. The last time Zarbon got jealous of her hair, he shaved it all off.

"I need to go, Zarbon," she says. "Lord Frieza wants a report by tomorrow."

He grins once more, his lips curling back as he bows in a parody of gentlemanlike behaviour. "By all means, go on your way. I would  _hate_  for you to disappoint Lord Frieza."

She doesn't look back as she all but runs down the hall, shutting the lab door behind her. She waits another hour before she is satisfied that Zarbon won't return, and only then does she dare to use her personal tablet to hack Vegeta's file once more. As suspected, the most recent entry is only minutes old, another medical report from the ship's doctors.

_Patient brought to infirmary in unstable condition. Broken nose. Left humerus broken. Hole in upper right torso. Multiple lacerations. Patient submerged in Bay 29 r. tank for three hour cycle._

The words swim before her as her vision blurs, each breath now a great, gasping sob that racks her body. She clutches at her chest, unable to draw enough air, her limbs shaking as she bends forward, collapsing in on herself. She can't take it anymore – she was made to live under blue skies and sunshine, not on a spaceship where aliens routinely murder one another. None of this is  _fair_.

Eventually the tears subside, and she can breathe again, the feeling of sheer panic gone, though she feels weak, her head pounding. She hates that she has broken down, hates the fact that she can have such weaknesses  _here_ , in a place where it will get her killed. In the five years she has been here, she has never shed a tear in front of anyone, and she's not willing to let that start now.

Anger is a better feeling, even if it is, in part, self-loathing. It fuels her through the long night, and she finishes her report for Frieza on autopilot, submitting it along with a series of blueprints for weapons that she will never build for him.

On her own device, she hacks into the mainframe that controls all regen tanks, messing with the programming of the tank adjacent to the one Vegeta has been placed in. Almost immediately the call-out comes through to the lab for a tech to come and fix the tampered medical equipment in Bay 29.

She's the only tech available on this lonely night shift, and so she takes the call. She'll still be there, fixing another broken regen tank, when Vegeta wakes up. By then the doctors will have left, and it will be easy enough to pass on all the information the Saiyans need.

In two days, they will leave here for good, or die trying.


	15. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 754_

Consciousness comes slowly, as it always does in the tank. For a long time he is only aware that he is somehow  _floating_ , and that there is a strange tingling in his arm. By the time he is ready to open his eyes, the sensation in his arm has disappeared, he can breathe easily again, and he remembers why he's in the tank in the first place.

_Zarbon._

He hears the alarm of the regen tank ring, the sound muted by the liquid that fills his ears. Footsteps cross the room, and the drains below his feet open. As the fluid recedes, he opens his eyes, and is shocked to find it is  _her_  standing there watching him with wide blue eyes, rather than the old doctor he was expecting.

He shakes the mask off of his face, impatient to get out of the tank. The seal on the tank door gives way with a hiss as the last of the green solution drains away, and he steps out, the cold air a shock against his naked body.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks quietly. The door to the medical bay is closed, and they are alone. He can only assume that she has already checked that the room is secure.

" _Fixing_  the tank," she replies, gesturing to the second tank in the room. "The room is safe. I  _nobly_  suggested to the doctors that I was capable of letting a soldier out after his cycle is complete, and they were happy to go get some rest."

"Hn."

The colour is high in her cheeks, and for an instant, her gaze darts below his waistline. When her eyes meet his again she blushes further, and he can't help but smirk at her reaction to his nudity.

"Can you hurry up and put some clothes on so we can  _talk?_   _This is serious!_ " she hisses, cheeks growing ever redder.

He takes a step towards her, chuckling under his breath as she backs away. "The doctor usually has a drying cloth ready for me, idiot," he tells her, moving past her to take a cloth from the shelving that lines the walls. He keeps his back turned as he dries himself, though he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull.

He turns back to face her as he pulls his gloves back into place, only to find that she has busied herself once more with the broken machine. He watches her as she works, her blue hair falling loose about her face as she focuses on the technology before her, her teeth caught firmly in her lower lip. She is a thing of beauty, and for an instant he regrets getting dressed. They are alone, after all.

She catches him watching, and he tears his gaze away, feeling the blood run to his own face. This is problematic, this strange alliance they have developed. He would sooner cut off his own tail than rely on another individual, if he could help it. But Frieza's power is too great, and the allure of the training equipment she has promised is far too tempting to turn down.

"I can finish fixing the machine when you leave," she begins. "I'll make this quick; I've got the data chip for you, along with the equipment I promised. All the instructions are included – don't dispose of your old scouters – leave them in your room on the night – the tracking devices in them will throw anyone looking for you off."

He takes the small data chip, and the accompanying capsule, from her outstretched hand, depositing them both down the front of his armour.

"There's one other thing," she adds, and he tenses as she touches his arm. He is tempted to throw her off, but her pleading gaze is distracting.

"I have a tracking microchip in my right arm," she continues. "It has to be removed – but we can't do that until after I've deactivated the tracking mechanisms on the space pods – I'm right-handed, and I need full use of my arm. We're going to be tight for time, but I'll need to cut the tracker out before we leave, and stitch the wound. I know you've done small operations on yourself before."

He snarls, and she drops her hand.  _Small operations_  is a tidy way to describe his desperate hack-job on his right leg, when a poison barb embedded itself under his skin six years ago. "You think you know everything about me, wench?" he asks, closing the gap between them. They are the same height, but she is small and frail compared to him. "How presumptuous."

"You're welcome to look at my file," she replies, refusing to back down. This close, he can smell salt on her skin – she's been crying at some point in the past few hours – but she is all fire now. "I've included a copy in the info-chip, Prince Vegeta. I've always been a great believer in transparency."

"You are a fool."

"I'm not the idiot who got into a fight with Zarbon two days before we're due to go. What the hell did you do anyway?"

"That's none of your concern!" he spits. She has no right to meddle in his affairs with anyone, and he has no appreciation for her insolence. "Mind your own fucking business!"

"Your business  _is_  my business!" she hisses, eyes wide as she gestures frantically. "Until we get off of this fucking ship, everything you do affects  _me!_  So keep your mouth shut and don't provoke Zarbon!"

 _He provoked me!_  he thinks, though all he can manage is a warning snarl that rips through the air, their faces now mere inches from each other. They stare at each other in a tense impasse that seems to last an age, and he finds himself torn between fury and arousal. She is insane, and he fears that it is catching.

She is the one that steps away first, turning back to her broken regen tank. "I have to finish this job. I will see you in two days. Don't be late this time."

He snorts, staring at her form for a moment. Her body is hidden under the shapeless gown she wears, but he has felt the curves of her before, her small frame tucked in his arms as he has pulled her from Frieza's deadly presence.

He leaves her alone in the med bay. When it comes to their escape, he would be best to leave her behind – to have her remove the tracking devices on the pods, and then kill her.

He's already rejected that option.


	16. Bulma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I listened to on repeat when writing this chapter is The Last Stand by Koda. It's awesome, so check it out.
> 
> I'm dedicating this chapter to Nelicquele79, who has drawn a wonderful piece of fanart for chapter 11 of this story. It's now the cover image for this fic, and I hope you will all go to her DeviantArt profile and check out her amazing Vegeta fanart.

**Bulma**

_Year 754_

She dresses in front of the mirror, and for the first time in five years it is not standard tech clothing that she puts on, but the uniform of a warrior. The navy blue leotard covers her from ankle to neck, the sleeveless design highlighting her pale arms, her muscles toned after years of labour under Frieza. She pulls on white boots, and a simple white and gold piece of armour. It has no shoulder guards or hip panels, but it provides some protection across her torso, and that is better than nothing.

Today is the day she will prove that her life is no longer dictated by Frieza, and as she ties her long blue hair into a neat bun, she flashes a feral grin at her reflection. Hair complete, she adds her final adornment – her sky-blue scouter that fits snug over her ear.

She looks  _fierce_.

The scouter beeps, alerting her that someone is approaching, and Vegeta's gravel voice shoots through the receiver.  _"Woman, it's time."_

"My name is  _Bulma_ ," she reminds him pointedly, and hears one of the other Saiyans sniggering down the end of a scouter. She leaves her old tech uniform discarded on the bathroom floor, and passes through her empty bedroom. She has cleared the place out, capsulizing everything, including the mattress from her bed. Only the steel frame of the cot remains bolted to the wall; it is not worth the effort to remove it.

She only wishes she could see Frieza's face when he realises his beloved mastertech has up and left.

She doesn't bother to look back as she steps into the hall, her timing perfect to fall in line behind Vegeta. He glances back at her, and for a second she sees more than just mild curiosity in those black eyes, but then he turns towards the upcoming lab, and the moment is gone.

He flanks her as she keys in the passcode to the laboratory, and they enter silently. Like every other night, the lab is empty.  _Perfect._

"We have five minutes in the lab," she says quietly, pulling a capsule out from her armour. It lands on the ground with a soft pop, and is replaced with a large tarpaulin she's taken from the stockroom and altered. She stalks around it, logging into the first computer she reaches. Behind her, Vegeta begins to pile equipment from the lab in the centre of the tarp, taking anything and everything of value. He works quickly, his movements often too fast for her to keep track, and her heart soars as she watches the pile of machinery and tools – computers, solder irons, coils of wire, 3D printers – grow ever bigger.

When her account boots up she plugs in the small drive she's worked on, and watches her virus transfer, knowing it will disable Frieza's mainframe and decimate all working technology on board. The other techs will be able to clear the virus –  _eventually_  – but by then Frieza and his lackeys will have enjoyed weeks of torture with limited use of their systems.

She pulls her drive from the computer, and sets the virus to release in half an hour, adding a countdown timer to her scouter screen. "Half an hour until the virus is installed in the main system," she says, knowing that all three Saiyans are listening through their scouters. "We can't be here when that happens."

Her scouter flashes the name  _Nappa_  as a transmission comes through.  _"Upper pod deck is clear, Prince Vegeta."_  The voice is a deep baritone, and she frowns, glaring across the room at Vegeta. According to the plan she agreed on, Nappa was supposed to be guarding the lower deck.

" _Lower pod deck is clear,"_  and her scouter shows that it's Raditz this time.  _"But there's been a fuck up – there's only three pods here."_

Her heart skips a beat, and her glare turns into wide-eyed shock. For a moment, Vegeta's expression mirrors her own, and the knowledge that he can feel such fear hits her hard in the guts; a cold reminder that on this ship he is still considered weak when compared to the big guns.  _"_ What do you mean, there's only three pods?! _"_  he yells, and she cringes as his voice echoes back at her through her scouter. She'll have to fix the delay in the broadcast.

" _The fourth one isn't here – the launch pad has been disengaged so it must have been –"_

"What do the records say?" she interrupts.

" _Wha – "_

"Go to the control panel and look at the ship log. It should tell you who took the fourth pod." Her heart is pounding in her ears, and she glances around the lab in a panic, momentarily at a loss for what to do next. Seconds pass, and there is still no reply through the scouter.

"Raditz!" Vegeta hisses, and his voice echoes  _"Raditz!"_ through her earpiece.

" _I fucking don't know!"_ comes the reply. _"What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?"_

"Shit," she curses, catching Vegeta's eye again. "We need to get to the pod deck!"

Vegeta's collected enough lab equipment. It takes no more than a second to capsulize the tarpaulin, designed to store everything sitting within the four corners of the plastic mat, and as soon as this is tucked down the front of her armour they leave the lab and run down the hall, following pre-programed directions that lead to the pod deck.

"Hurry!" Vegeta hisses, looking at her over his shoulder as she strains to keep up with his pace. She's sprinting, her chest burning as she gasps for breath. She hears him growl, and shrieks as he comes to a stop in front of her, causing her to slam painfully into his chest. Only his arms, locked like a vice around her, prevent her from falling backwards. His expression is severe as he hoists her into his arms, and the hallway begins to rush by at a dizzying speed.

She frowns and keeps her eyes trained ahead, angry that in a matter of seconds she's been reduced to a damsel in distress, sitting tense in the arms of this prince. Despite this, she keeps her mouth shut. It makes sense for Vegeta to carry her; the pod deck is half the length of the ship from the lab, and she needs both time and energy to disconnect the tracking devices in the pods. She eyes the time displayed on her scouter screen.  _Twenty seven minutes until the virus is released._

Vegeta runs through the path she has mapped out for them – an indirect route that avoids any current surveillance areas. Both their scouters beep as he reaches an apparent dead end.  _"Hidden door on the left. Stairs direct to P deck,"_  says her pre-recorded voice through the scouter.

She clings to Vegeta as he takes one last glance behind them before sliding through the door to the stairwell. He takes to the air, and she has to close her eyes as they drop down the centre of a stairwell that curves in on itself, her stomach roiling from the quick descent.

When the world stops moving around her she opens her eyes to find both of Vegeta's men standing before them, the three remaining pods ready to deploy behind them. Vegeta sets her down on shaky legs, the after-effects of his flight making her momentarily dizzy.

"I've taken care of the weakling guards on the upper level," Nappa says with a cruel smirk, and she can't help glancing at the giant's meaty hands, stained purple with blood. Not for the first time, she wonders what the hell she is doing working with these beasts. She stuffs away the sick sense of guilt that curls in her gut; her role in the deaths of Frieza's guards is something she can contemplate later, but there is no time for that now.

"Someone must have taken the fourth pod," she says, glancing at Vegeta. "There's meant to be four here, ready for the Koribian squad tomorrow."

"We will have to share," he sneers back. "You won't fit with the others."

She shivers under Vegeta's dark stare, though it isn't out of fear. Her scouter beeps again –  _twenty five minutes!_  – and she strides between Raditz and Nappa, Vegeta hot on her heels. All three men hover over her as she hacks into the log that records the coming and going of pods. "Shit," she hisses, and behind her, Vegeta lets off a string of curses.

As she feared, it's Zarbon who has taken a pod. Only he and Dodoria have the authorisation to take physical leave of the ship without a scheduled purge. Sweat breaks out on her neck as she scans for his pod's location.

"Twenty minutes!" she cries, reading the estimated time of arrival.

"Hurry! Get to work!" Vegeta snarls, shoving her towards the pods. "If Zarbon returns –"

"I  _know!_ " she spits, cutting him off as she throws her toolbox capsule on the floor. Seconds pass in an agonising wait as the first pod door lifts slowly. "Open the others!" she orders, pointing at Vegeta's men.

The tracker is hidden in a panel above the red leather seat in the pod, requiring her to climb right into the small ship. She strips of her scouter, replacing it with a torch headband, and slides in, her hands slick with sweat as she begins the process of unscrewing the panel. Outside, Vegeta watches, and his tense energy seems to fill the air.

"You need to work faster than that, Woman," he growls.

"You need to shut the fuck up!" she yells back, ignoring the shocked grunts of his men behind him. "I can't work with your ugly mug in my face! These panels have  _bombs_ attached to them, so I will work as fast or slow as it suits me!"

She refuses to pay Vegeta any more attention, despite the nasty language that he shoots her way. Slowly, the world around her disappears as she finds her rhythm, and the tracking device, along with its inbuilt bomb, comes away from the rest of the ship. She cradles is carefully in her hands, crawling backwards out of the pod, and sets it down on the ground. " _Don't_ touch that," she warns, moving to the next ship.

"Fourteen minutes," Raditz says, and Vegeta growls, his tail twisting through the air. Nappa, she notes, has disappeared, presumably on guard duty.

She repeats the process with the other two pods, each time the tracking device coming away with ease. "Three minutes!" Vegeta yells as she crawls out of the last pod.

"Capsulize the tools!" she yells back, tossing him her screwdriver set. He moves swiftly, tucking her toolbox capsule down his armour as she sits on the ground and opens up her small medical capsule, selecting a scalpel and a shot of local anaesthetic. The tracking device in her arm must come out before she leaves – it too has a tiny explosive embedded within it, set to go off if she is more than a mile away from the ship. The blast would kill her, and likely take the pod engine with her.

"Nappa, Raditz! Into the pods!"

It is a rush as the two men run, diving into a pod each. Their doors close, and the pods drop down, the airlock doors closing around them. She grunts as Vegeta kneels before her, shoving her scouter haphazardly over her eye. "Forget this and you'll lead them to us, fool," he growls under his breath as he snatches the scalpel from her hand.

"The anaesthetic!" she cries as he grips her right arm, and in a panic she tries to twist out of his tight hold.

"There's no time," he growls, and she screams as the scalpel slices through her skin, fire erupting down the length of her arm. She howls as he digs out the tracking device embedded there, and for a moment her vision blacks out.

"Do not faint on me," she hears him growl, even as she slumps against his chest. The worst of the pain is over, though she wishes at this point that he had just lopped her whole arm off,  _less pain,_ she thinks,  _please, less pain. Cut it off_.

Her sight returns to her as picks her up, and she screams as his manhandling sets the fire racing across her skin. She blinks and they are in the pod, the door closing around them. There is a loud clunking sound, and as the pod drops her heart drops with it. Through the glass the metal walls of the ship is replaced with the emptiness of space.

" _Zarbon._ "

She's in too much pain to notice much of what Vegeta is saying. Her arm has been lit on fire, she is sure of it. She can't look.

"Stitches," she whispers, hoping that Vegeta hears her over the hum of the firing engine. He does.

This time he administers the anaesthetic, and the cold numbness that creeps over her arm is the greatest relief. Without the searing pain, she is able to notice more of her surroundings, and realises that she's sprawled out across Vegeta's lap, her head supported by the armrest. She can't look at the blood – she's too close to throwing up, already – and instead watches Vegeta's face as he bends over her, needle and sutures in hand.

His expression is intense, as usual, his frown at odds with the delicate movements of his gloveless hands. He catches her watching, though, and his last few stitches are rough enough that she hisses through a stab of pain, despite the anaesthetic.

He wraps the wound in silence, and she stares at the ceiling. She knows that she should feel more, should feel  _something_ , now that they are away from Frieza's ship.

All she feels is exhaustion, and a gut-wrenching sickness that she is now entirely facing the unknown.

"The coordinates?" she asks quietly.

"They've been set."

She's too tired to move from his lap, and there's nowhere else to go, anyway. She closes her eyes with a sigh, and finds that she does not have the energy to open them again.

"That was too close," Vegeta says.

 _Yes_ , she agrees, though the word doesn't quite form on her lips.

" _Stasis sleep activated,"_  she hears, the electronic voice pleasantly feminine. The smell of stasis gas surrounds her, and then,

nothing.


	17. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 754_

" _Initiating planetary orbit."_

Waking to the sound of his pod's computer is nothing new. His first thought is  _another purge_ , and it is only as the pod slowly drifts around to face the planet below that he thinks  _no, not today._

Today he is no longer one of Frieza's soldiers. He is the agent of his own existence. He is free, and when he kills next, it will be because he has chosen to.

He stares at the view out the window, the planet's surface a marble of orange and red. The sight is enough to bring his memories of Vegetasei to the forefront of his mind, and he clenches his fists, grinding his teeth together against the unwelcome tightness in his chest.

"What is it?"

He starts at the sound of Bulma's voice, having forgotten her presence in the pod. Only now does he realise that she is still lying across his lap, her legs hanging haphazardly over the edge of the single seat. She blinks up at him, her brows drawn together in concern, and he is struck once more by how utterly fragile she is. He has never met anyone with such a low power level before; she is barely stronger than a houseplant.

"Vegeta?"

"It's nothing," he answers, avoiding her direct gaze. "We're orbiting Gargantuan. Once night falls on the southern city we will land."

"Oh."

He can feel her gaze lingering on his face, and he keeps his eyes trained ahead, on the planet below. It is uncomfortably warm in the pod, and he resists the urge to push her onto the floor. He doesn't know why he suddenly gives a shit about the fact that she might not appreciate such rough handling.

"Thank you for stitching my arm. You've done a good job. You even applied antibiotic." Her voice is barely more than a whisper, tinged with surprise and far too much emotion for his liking. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair; for an insignificant weakling she somehow seems  _heavy_.

"I did my job. You could have done yours faster. You almost had us killed."

"Hey, no fair," she pouts, and finally she begins to shift, swinging her legs around and off the armrest. Her movements are slow and sluggish, the aftereffects of the stasis drugs clear in the way she lurches off the seat and onto her knees, twisting until she sits facing him with her back against the pod door. "Woah," she mutters under her breath, her head leaning back against the window, and he doesn't miss the way she cradles her right arm, nor the reddened flesh on either side of her bandage.

The thought that he has placed his life in the hands of such a weak creature is enough to chill him to the core. As she regains her composure, he contemplates once more the idea of ridding himself of such a disability.

"The training equipment you promised," he begins, and she opens her eyes, the hardened blue gaze – filled with cautious intelligence – is a reminder of why he did place his trust in her. "When will that be ready?"

"When we find a bigger ship, or somewhere safe to hole up for a while. Obviously I can't build anything in a pod this size," she gestures, shifting her legs until her feet press at his shins, "and you can't train in here either."

"Obviously."

Silence stretches between them, the air around them cold as the air conditioning flushes out the remnants of the stasis gas. She turns away from him, her eyes watching the planet below, and he wonders what she is thinking.

He doesn't need to ask. He's found that Bulma can never go for more than a few minutes without opening her big mouth. "My solar system had –  _has_ – a planet that looked like this one," she offers, her eyes still trained on the sight below. He stares at the back of her head while she continues to ramble on. "A gas giant, called Jupiter. It was uninhabitable, but the colours are so similar to this one. I saw it once. I was pioneering space travel when Zarbon arrived on my planet. I still don't know why they sent an elite to purge Earth. The people are –  _were_  – like me."

He already knows she's from a race of weaklings; he did read her file, after all. "Resources," he tells her bluntly. "Some planets have enough valuable resources to warrant a single elite that won't fuck up the landscape and blow every mineral-rich deposit into smithereens."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about," she says, and he doesn't miss the accusation in her voice.

"Of course," he fires back. "I'm the Prince of all Saiyans. I  _am_ the elite. But you know this; you read it on my file. You know how many planets I've purged, how many billions have died by my hands."

He's got her back up now, and watches as her left hand curls into a small fist. She keeps her face hidden behind the frame of her long hair, though he can see the reflection of her eyes, dark with bitterness, in the glass of the window.

"We're going to kill Frieza," she says with finality.

" _I'm_  going to kill Frieza," he corrects her.

"With my help. With  _my_  training equipment," she asserts, and when she turns to face him her face is ablaze with fury. "I. Will.  _See_. Him.  _Dead_ ," she hisses, her lips pulled back in a snarl.

He is caught in her stare, his blood singing beneath his skin in the sight of such sudden ferociousness.

"You will," he tells her, and the weight of this promise settles uncomfortably against his heart.


	18. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 754_

She closes her eyes in the last instant, her head whipping forward as the space pod collides with the ground. Only Vegeta's arm, held tight around her middle, stops her from flying forward on impact. The dust is still settling around the pod as its door begins to open, and she stands on wobbly legs, heart beating rapidly in her chest. She winces as the same pulse burns hot around the wound on her right arm, her stitches pulling uncomfortably at her skin.

The air on Gargantuan is filled with a dry heat that leaves her feeling thirsty within seconds of drawing it into her lungs, and yet the taste of it on her tongue – so  _vibrant_ compared to the stale air of a ship – is better than she could have imagined.

She clambers out of the pod, her first steps on this alien soil clumsy in comparison to Vegeta's catlike grace. He stands beside her as she peers up at the edge of the crater, ten feet above her head, and into the night above. In this dark she can't see much, but she already knows one thing; she can't climb the steep incline before her.

She knows how painfully aware Vegeta is of her lack of strength, but she loathes drawing attention to it any more than necessary. She's seen his calculated look too many times to ignore the fact that he considers her weaknesses to be a personal liability. Standing here on this strange planet she'd never heard of before three weeks ago sends a chill running down her spine; on Frieza's ship Vegeta relied on her to get them out alive, but this here is his domain, and she is very much at his mercy.

He snorts beside her, a noise he makes when only mildly offended, and when his arms curl around her waist she leans into him, jumping only slightly as his tail winds around her knees, extra support as he lifts her into the air. It is a matter of seconds before he sets her down, feet once more on dry soil, and she looks across the arid landscape. The crescent moon does little to illuminates the ground, but she can make out the second and third craters, and the dark shapes that swoop up from these, flying towards her like demons in the night.

They land a few feet away, and she remembers that they  _are_  demons in the night. Nappa towers above them all, standing eight feet high; Raditz stands a foot smaller, still huge compared to her. Their new scouters glint in the dim moonlight, as do their canines, bared in wolfish grins. A shiver runs down her spine.

Vegeta shifts impatiently. "We need to get moving," he commands. "There's a port on the outskirts of the city. We'll take a ship from there."

She is scooped up in Vegeta's arms once more, his movements rough this time, and she hisses as he bumps her bad arm. His ki ignites around them both, her stomach lurching as her takes to the air, and she shivers, the blazing heat radiating from his body at odds with the icy air of the night sky. Her nose brushes against his bare neck as she turns her face away from the wind, and she is glad the darkness conceals the blush on her cheeks.

It's been a long time since a man held her this close.

. . .

She steps gingerly over a body and onto the ramp of their chosen ship. She should feel worse about the casualties; between them the Saiyans took out eight men to take the  _Eleusis,_ a sleek looking craft with an impressing cruise speed.

For the moment she just feels relief; and as the ramp retracts and the airlocks seal shut, she breathes out a sigh. The ship lifts, Vegeta steering at the helm as they breach the atmosphere of Gargantuan, and for a brief moment she sees freedom. They have left no traces of their visit to this planet, having set all three of their pods to self-destruct minutes after their arrival, and having killed every creature that spotted them in their escape.

It is this last thought that spoils her sense of liberty. She stands rooted to the spot, staring out at the dark of empty space, for an immeasurable amount of time, trapped under the weight of what she has just done. It is her shaking limbs that finally bring her out of her reverie, her body finally experiencing the shock of it all. Teeth chattering and arm burning in pain, the guilt of her alliance with the murderous Saiyans sinks heavy in her gut.

"The blue bitch is smart, but she reeks of fear," she hears Nappa say from somewhere in the bowels of the ship.

She laughs, and the sound is hollow in her ears.

She  _is_ afraid. She is a ghost now, real only to the three alien men that know she is here. She has escaped Frieza, but the knowledge that she must face him again one day, to claim her revenge, is both a blessing and a curse.

Until that day, she can never be seen, never be caught. Until then, she will never truly be free.


	19. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 754_

The ship was too small for his liking when they first boarded the damn thing; after a week it feels like a cage that's slowly suffocating them all. Any exhilaration he felt at being free from Frieza has drained away in the face of reality – they have no choice at this point but to run as far away from the Colds' reach as possible – a bitter pill to swallow for any Saiyan, let alone the Prince. Still, if he can't fight Frieza yet he can at least pride himself in outsmarting the lizard bastard, and on that basis he can live with the shame of hiding.

Leaning against the wall in the ship's flight deck, he watches from across the room as the woman opens the holographic star chart once more, her eyes dancing around the charted systems as she searches, as he has already done, for a place suitable for all their needs.

"I've already tried that sector," he tells her, and her blue gaze snaps to him, her eyes sharp amongst the projected stars that float through the room. The fabric of her coveralls crunches as she places her hands on her hips.

"I need parts, Vegeta. Even if it's just a short stop – I can't work on much without raw materials. If you want training equipment when we do find a planet to settle on then you better get used to the fact that we need to pick up supplies."

"You were supposed to gather all that you needed from Frieza's ship before we left," he tells her, shifting his weight and stepping towards her. They've had this discussion before and he knows her answer –  _Frieza's ship didn't have what I need now_ – but he can't stop himself. Getting her mad is an itch he can't help but scratch, and it is welcome entertainment on this otherwise dull journey.

Disappointingly, she doesn't take the bait this time, instead ignoring his last comment completely. "This system is known for dealing in machinery and spare parts," she says, her finger pointing just above her head.

"Frieza has an outpost on the neighbouring system."

Her eyes narrow, lips twitching with the hint of a smile. "It sounds almost as if you're scared, Vegeta."

His tail unfurls from his waist, curling behind him as he stalks forward through the hologram until he stands nose-to-nose with Bulma. "If Frieza finds us we're all dead," he tells her.

She holds her ground as he holds her gaze. "We won't let him find us, then," she says quietly. Stepping back, she nods to the planet above her head. "Culampu has the most promising description I've found in days. If I can get –"

A noise from the communication panel stops her mid-sentence, and her features are lit in a red glow from the light indicating a fresh message. She flashes him a concerned look, before he steps forward and opens the video file.

"It's just another statement from Frieza," he says, watching as Zarbon's face fills the screen, delivering the same communiqué they have already watched twenty times over.

" _If there are any sightings of the Saiyans or the Mastertech Bulma Briefs, these must be reported to the nearest PTO branch immediately,"_  Zarbon drawls on-screen.  _"A hefty reward will be offered to anyone who comes forth with information."_

Images of all four of them – both headshots and full body scans – fill the screen. Beside him, Bulma cringes.

"Ugh, I hate that photo;" she complains, "the tech robe totally washes me out." Once again, he questions why he has ever trusted this woman's mind.

"You're an idiot," he tells her, before adding "We passed by  _Frieza 26_  ten minutes ago – this must be from the transmitters there."

"Yeah. He's got the whole quadrant covered, huh?"

"Which is exactly why we need to move beyond his controlled domains as quickly as possible."

"Agreed. So I'll set that course for Culampu?" There's a glint in her eye as she looks at him, her fine brows raised in question. After a moment's pause, she adds, "You  _do_  want that gravity belt I designed, right?"

He grinds his teeth, barely restraining a snarl. She has the audacity to grin at him, and he does snarl then. "Fine. Set the course for fucking Culampu; but if this causes me unnecessary trouble I'm breaking your neck myself."

" _Okay_  Prince Vegeta," she says, her insolent tone further grating his nerves, and his fists clench as she turns away to set the coordinates.  _Fucking bitch._

It drives him mad that she is so dismissive of his threats, of his power. Even more so, because he finds her insolence somehow attractive, although he would never admit such a thing to her. But he watches as she moves around the flight deck, her delicate hands directing the holographic map as she looks further afield for a planet they can use as a training ground, and he realises that there has been a shift in her in the past week. Gone is the tense set to her shoulders, the tightly pressed lips. She catches him staring, and for a moment he is frozen in those blue eyes that seem suddenly  _piercing_.

"You know, you're cute when you're angry," she says with a wink, before flouncing out of the room without a care. He remains standing there, slack-jawed, until he registers Raditz' laugh echoing from the adjoining common room.

 _Idiots_ , he tells himself, ki sparking on his fingertips.  _Absolute idiots_.

* * *

 **A/N:**  The tech in this chapter was definitely influenced by Star Wars – so credit to  _The Force Awakens_.


	20. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 754_

The airlock hisses closed behind her, and she takes a deep breath, observing the room from inside her goldfish-bowl helmet. Oxygen floods into her lungs, as it should, and she is reassured that she will survive this crazy manoeuvre.

_Or I'll just die trying._

At Vegeta's insistence, they will not be landing the ship on Culampu. Entering into the lower atmosphere will likely mean their ship's details will be recorded, and it's not a risk anyone is willing to take so close to one of Frieza's personal star systems. But without a landing pod on board, the only option is to literally  _jump ship_  from just above the thin, outer atmosphere.

She looks across to Vegeta, the fabric of her spacesuit rustling with the movement, and catches his mouth curling into the slightest smirk, as if her get-up is amusing. He can probably hear her heart racing, and she closes her eyes, swallowing back the sick feeling in her stomach. She's done plenty of crazy things in her life – a number of them connected somehow to these Saiyans – but this, this is  _insane_.

Unlike her, Vegeta wears no protective gear, only a plain black spandex suit, far removed from the bulky armour worn by Frieza's soldiers. He's done this a dozen times before, apparently. His ki will act as a shield, a barrier from the vacuum of space, and there is no risk of death. At the speed that he flies, they'll both be well within the planet's atmosphere before she can even take her first breath.

That's what he told her, anyway. She believes him, but it doesn't mean she's willing to risk death by explosive depressurisation just because a guy with a cute face told her she'd be okay. " _You're being ridiculous_ ," he'd told her as she'd donned her suit, " _my ki will shield both of us_ ," and she thought he might have been offended by her lack of trust. " _Better safe than sorry_ ," she'd replied, recalling the disastrous space missions she'd read about in her father's history books as a child.

"Ten seconds until depressurisation begins."

The ship's robotic voice cuts through the cold room, and a shiver runs down her spine. Vegeta steps towards her as the alarm begins to ring, a final warning before the outer door opens. She flinches as his hand touches her back, her breath catching as he scoops her into his arms bridal-style. The alarm light paints his face red as he frowns down at her.

The alarm stops, and the airlock door slides open. For a moment time stands still, and she is there, in space, the vivid purple seas of Culampu glowing through the open hatch.

And then they are flying. For the first few seconds she registers nothing more than a sudden rush, Vegeta's grasp tightening around her as everything else blurs, but she acclimatises quickly, twisting her head to look over her shoulder at the planet below. The purple sea stretches out for a thousands of miles, land only a small line on the curved edge of the horizon.

"We're well within breathable atmosphere now, even for a weak creature like you."

She nods, ignoring Vegeta's barb, and reaches for the switch at the base of her helmet, where she has installed capsulation technology. The glass helmet disappears with a soft pop, and cool air hits her face. Vegeta's ki shield does what he said it would do – although she feels the fresh air, she does not feel the speed of their movement. It occurs to her that his shield has already saved her life by negating the g-forces that would have certainly killed her when they exited the spaceship, and she snorts, shaking her head in wonder.  _How did I forget_ _ **that**_ _?_

"How long until we reach the city?" she asks, shifting slightly in his grip so that she can free her right arm, pinned between their bodies.

"An hour. I'm avoiding scouters. Stop squirming."

She sighs, turning her face back towards the planet below. The scenery, breath-taking as it is, is boring after the first five minutes. She feels distracted, unsure about  _how_ she should feel in this moment; should she be grateful for her newfound freedom, or in awe of the fact that she is literally  _flying_  above a stunning planet? She used to love adventure.

But Frieza still taints her thoughts, and she imagines all the possible things that could go wrong if anyone from the Planet Trade Organisation is here. Anger bubbles up inside her, a black rage that all too often threatens to consume her. She would never be in this position if it weren't for Frieza. Her fingers itch at the thought of finding the equipment she needs; equipment she will use to build machines that will hone the Saiyans' murderous skills, equipment she will use to build her own weapons of mass destruction. She plots Frieza's death daily. She has turned her grief into anger, and her anger into fuel that feeds the fires of hatred for the monsters that took everything from her. Frieza has done this to her.

She knows this is why Vegeta, who trusts no one, agreed to work with her. He looks at her and sees his own hatred for Frieza reflected back at him. She looks at Vegeta and sees her own anger mirrored in him. He was only a child when he was taken from his home planet and forced to be a soldier, she was only a teen when she was taken from hers and forced to build weapons that kill thousands in an instant.

She avoids the question of what will happen after they kill Frieza.

The cool air bites at her nose. She closes her eyes and tries not to think about the warmth of Vegeta's shoulder under her cheek, or the way his fingers press into the underside of her knee. She wills for her brilliant mind to –  _just once_  – think of nothing at all.


	21. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 754_

He lands on the outskirts of Culampu's capital city, setting Bulma down as he survey's their surroundings. He checks this against the map he has displayed on the  _watch_  device around his wrist, one of the first tools Bulma has created for him as part of their agreement. He grits his teeth, feeling naked without his scouter and body armour. That in turn makes his stomach coil in shame; he is free from Frieza's grasp, and yet he longs for the clothing that marked him as one of Frieza's dogs. The word  _institutionalised_  comes to mind and he spits at the ground, disgusted with himself.

"Gross," Bulma comments, screwing up her nose. "Shouldn't princes have better manners than  _that?_ "

"Shut up," he snaps, and cocks his head. "We need to get a move on – the market is another hour's walk from here."

"We can't get any closer?"

"Not without risking detection. Keep up," he orders in a tone that permits no further remarks.

For once, the woman follows his directions without complaint.

. . .

For the first half hour they wind through narrow streets and pass only the odd Culampian on their way home from the market, but as they grow closer to the city centre, they begin to see creatures from other races. Some he has come across before, others are entirely new species that he has never seen. It puts him on edge. He is blind without his scouter; unable to read their power levels, he is forced to rely on sight alone, looking for the tell-tale body language that would mark them as a warrior. Bulma walks silently beside him, glancing at her own watch, and every now and then craning her neck to examine the buildings around them with wide-eyed curiosity.

They continue for another ten minutes, the foot traffic around them growing busier, the small lanes opening up into roads that allow access for vehicles and carts. Bulma halts suddenly, and with a huff, tugs at his arm in an attempt to get him to stop. "What?" he snaps, his voice echoing a little too loudly, drawing odd looks from those passing by. She winces, and pushes against his shoulder. He allows her to guide them into a quiet alleyway.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she whispers, her gaze sharp. Her hands shift to her waist, a pose she adopts often in his presence. Unfortunately, he's in no mood for a battle of wits today.

"Nothing." He moves to shift past her, but a hand on his chest stays him.

"Nuh-uh. Something is bugging you, and that scares me. I need to know if we're in danger. You owe me that much, Vegeta."

"I owe you nothing. You would be dead without me. You're the one in debt."

Her mouth presses into a flat line. "No. You would still be stuck with Frieza if it weren't for me." She licks her lips, blue eyes –  _such a strange colour_  – rolling. "Look, that was a bad choice of words," she offers, the closest thing he'll ever get to an apology from this one. "But if there's an issue, I need to know because my life is just as much at stake here, and I value my life."

He grits his teeth, grimacing. "I usually wear a scouter." He hates admitting to any weakness.

She nods, grasping his meaning immediately, and he is thankful that for all her faults, she is as intelligent as she often claims to be.

"It must be disconcerting, not to have a clear read on…  _potential threats_ ," she whispers, lowering her voice as she gestures back towards the busy street. "But no one has paid much attention to us – we're as strange as the other aliens that are here, just a regular couple out on a stroll to the markets," she adds with a wink that makes heat rise up his neck. " _Except_ , you've had a look on your face for the last ten minutes that's made everyone we've approached cross the street to get away from us. You look like you're about to rip someone's head off.  _It's not that subtle_ ," she finishes, her tone downright condescending.

"Bitch," he hisses, stepping forward to crowd her personal space. She isn't intimidated, and she doesn't step back. A grin breaks out on her face.

"I'm actually having fun here. This is my first time in a proper alien city, and I want to enjoy it. I just need you to dial down the murder-face. No one is going to attack us as long as  _you_  don't look like you want a fight."

He hates to admit it, but she's right.  _Fuck._

He glares at her smug face, snorting as she steps back and gestures towards the main street. "After you,  _Your Highness_."

He's fucking pissed off, but he ignores her and works on maintaining a  _neutral expression_  for the rest of the walk into town.

. . .

The market reeks of unwashed bodies and dirty wares. The crush of people and their incessant chatter is enough to make him want to blast the entire planet into the next dimension, and the  _pain_  of waiting for Bulma to decide on what she wants to purchase makes it all the more difficult to bear.

"That's it."

"What?" She looks up momentarily, although he can tell her attention remains focused on the pile of junk she's sifting through.

"You've found the miniature axial compressor. You've found…  _these_ ," he adds, lifting the bag of parts he holds in his hand. You have the parts you need."

"But – "

"Every moment we spend planet side puts us at risk. We're leaving now."

She sighs, but acquiesces with a roll of those blue eyes and a mutter of  _"Fine, little troll,"_  under her breath, heaving the box she's been searching through under her arm. With her spare hand she shoves their remaining cash at the vendor. "I'll take the lot."

The vendor blinks at them both, its four eyes not quite in time with each other. "Okays," it says, accepting the cash with a nod. They turn away, Bulma always a step behind as they push through the crowd.

"Hurry up, Woman," he growls, turning to look back over his shoulder. His stomach clenches immediately, his eyes darting amongst the crowd, searching for the bright blue of her hair.

Bulma is nowhere in sight.


	22. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 754_

Even with Vegeta paving the way, it's hard to move through the crowds, and she grunts as she catches someone's elbow in the ribs. Still, she follows behind Vegeta steadily enough, her box of spare parts in hand. At his insistence, Vegeta carries the machinery needed to make the gravity gear she has promised him. There's parts for quite a few other inventions she has on the cards, too, and they'll capsulize it all once they get out of the craziness of the Culampu market.

She's thinking about how she'll improve her ki blaster further when a gloved hand clamps down hard on her mouth, a second arm wrapping around her torso from behind and yanking her backwards. Her box of parts goes flying, and she squeals behind the gloved hand, but amongst the crush of the bodies the noise goes unnoticed, and Vegeta disappears from view. As her captor continues to drag her backwards, she catches the eye of a passer-by, trying desperately to communicate  _HELP ME_  through her widened eyes, but he simply averts his gaze and ignores what's going on. Everyone ignores her, even as she kicks and squirms and drags her heels, and she has the dreaded feeling that the creature who has caught her is one of Frieza's. There's armour pressing against her back, and as she is dragged down a quieter market alley and between two buildings, she catches sight of their reflection in the glass of a window.

All on their own, her limbs go limp, her body freezing in fear. The creature snarls and turns her around to face him, and she whimpers, looking up at the towering form of an angry Gripfrob. His hands hold her arms at her sides, and she can feel his talons pressing through his gloves into her skin.

_He's not the same_ , she tells herself, but she can't quite get her lungs to inflate. Moss-covered bricks press against her back, and her hands shake. She remembers the way the last Gripfrob died at her feet, the way it took days to wash the smell of his blood away from her skin. This one pulls his lips back in a menacing smile, and she is struck by the similarities to last time. She stares at the same needle-like teeth, the yellow eyes that contrast with its scaly, maroon skin, and thinks that the universe is out to get her. This is some sick joke.  _This can't be real._

"Master Frieza is paying a lot for you,  _Bulma_ ," he says, and the voice is so similar that for an instant she is back in that elevator, fighting for her life. Except that this time there are spots in her vision, and her arms, trapped as they are beneath his hands, can't move to activate her gun.

He wears a scouter, and as he leans in towards her, the screen flashes. The Gripfrob is close enough that she can hear the beeping alarm that indicates a high power level approaching.

It's all the warning she has before the Gripfrob's head disappears before her eyes, showering her with a spray of black blood. She shrieks, eyes wide as she presses further back against the wall, the Gripfrob's hands loosening, its headless body falling backwards onto the wet ground, severed arteries in the neck still spurting blood. Vegeta stands before her, but her vision shutters, turning grey, then black and dark. She is blind, and when hands come down on her shoulders she cries out, instinctively backing away. The hands pull her forward, up against a warm body that is comforting in its familiarity, and she leans into it as strong arms scoop her up.

Her vision returns, blurry at first, clearing as they take to the skies. She feels weak, and wraps her arms around his neck; more because she needs to feel anchored to something  _alive_  than for practical reasons. She needs to rid herself of the feeling of death that the Gripfrob dredged up.

Vegeta's arms are tight around her. She presses her face against his neck, a shiver running down her spine. He is silent, but she can feel the corded muscles in his back shift under her touch. It takes her a while to notice that there is a visible aura around them both, a blue light that glows faintly over Vegeta's outline. His ki.

"You're flying faster?" she questions, leaning back to look him in the eye.

"We're being followed. The Gripfrob wasn't alone."

"Oh." She shivers again, curling against him. They continue in silence. Time drags on, and she watches as the sea passes under them faster than before.

"Has it happened before?" Vegeta's voice is low, and it takes her a moment to process his words.

"Blacking out? No. I think… I think it was seeing his face; it just took me back to…" she trails off, the words caught in her throat.

"You can't let that happen again," he says, and a flash of anger bubbles within her.  _I didn't mean to_ , she wants to say, but she knows that he's right. She's angry, but it's directed at herself. She doesn't like that her body reacted that way. When she needed it to work it betrayed her, and she is suddenly fearful that something inside her is broken.

The silence is shattered by an eerie howl that burns her eardrums, and over the noise she hears Vegeta yell " _Shit_ " as they dive sharply towards the water. The howl ends, surpassed by an explosion that blinds her, and she clings to Vegeta for dear life as they spin through the air. His tail wraps around her legs, his grip on her twisting until she is practically lying beneath him, one arm around her shoulders, his tail tucked beneath her knees. She watches as his free arm stretches out behind them, glowing bright blue, a blinding light shooting forth. The hairs on her arm all stand on end, her skin electric.

Her arms remain firmly around his neck. She frees one to activate her helmet, only seconds before he turns sharply and flies up, the planet speeding away from them. Purple skies turn black as they breach the atmosphere; he turns again, her stomach lurching as she feels the force of this movement, although she knows it would be a hundred times worse without his ki shield.

Another ki blast flies past them, and she grits her teeth, her free hand grabbing at her necklace with her right hand. The capsule comes free, becoming a gun that encases her entire hand, a wearable weapon. There is no safety on it, and she stretches her arm out, firing blindly. It doesn't matter – she's doing something, and that's all that matters right now.

She is too busy watching what is behind her – three fighters, from what she can make out – to notice the upcoming ship. Vegeta skids to a halt within the open airlock, tossing her to the ground. She lands hard, gritting her teeth against the shooting pain in her hip, and turns towards the closing door. Blasts fire at them, but Vegeta stands in the door, and his scream echoes into space as a wave of air seems to fire forth from his body. Within seconds the airlock closes; she hears the hiss as oxygen floods the room, the hum of the ship's protective shields locking into place. The ship shudders, jumping into hyper speed. It's a dangerous manoeuvre from standstill, but in this instance she won't complain about Raditz' piloting abilities.

She touches the button at the base of her neck, and her helmet disappears. She's lying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily. She can hear Nappa's mindless yelling as the internal door to the airlock opens. Vegeta stands over her, and she meets his gaze.

"If you're going to use that  _thing_ ," he sneers, pointing to her right arm, still encased to the elbow by her gun, "then at least learn how to  _aim_." But there's humour in his eyes –  _he's teasing me_  – and she lifts the gun, grinning as she points it at his head.

" _Boom_ ," she says. "How's that for aim?"

He snorts, and walks away, his tail curling slowly behind him. She lowers her arm, and, after a moment, rises to her feet. Adrenaline courses through her, and she is giddy with it. There's a fire in her gut. She tells herself she can leave the fear behind.


	23. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 755_

He stares at the holograph before him, the miniature of the nameless planet suspended in the centre of the room. Bulma's delicate hands lift to cup it and set it spinning on its orbit, its single moon drifting lazily around it.

"It's as perfect as we're going to get," she says, meeting his gaze through the hologram. "The climate is reasonable, the gravity is perfect – "

"For a  _Human_ ," he interrupts with a sneer.

"Yes, for a  _Human_ ," she continues with a roll of her eyes, "and I am a Human, and I am very valuable to you, so you don't want me to be squashed to a pulp under ridiculous gravity levels. Moving on – it has breathable atmosphere – "

"How wonderful."

" –  _aand_  it has a wide variety of edible animals so you Saiyans can go hunting and eat all the raw meat you want," she adds with a raised brow that conveys her thoughts on the matter. "The most important thing is that it hasn't been claimed by anyone – it's not near any of the major empires, it only has the designated number that all charted planets are assigned, and as far as the most recent reports are concerned, it's uninhabited."

He doesn't bother to point out that the most recent probe report is dated from before even Nappa was born. It is the most promising planet they have found to date, and he is as eager as everyone else to get off this fucking ship. Four standard months without reprieve from Nappa and Raditz's combined stupidity is far too long for anyone.

"We have to get off of this ship, Vegeta. I'm going insane here."

"You already are," he tells her, a smirk tugging at his lips. She rolls her eyes but does not reply as she usually would with some witty remark, and as she turns her back to switch the holograph off he notices the tense set to her shoulders. Her displeasure bothers him more than it should.

"Set the course for it," he says, and the sigh of relief she breathes seems to lighten something in his own chest.

"Thank fucking Kami," she mutters under her breath. He watches as her fingers fly over the ship controls, her piloting skills on par with his own. He supposes it shouldn't be surprising; the woman is a  _mastertech_  after all, and he has seen the way she seems to breathe life into inanimate objects. Wire and metal become living things under her hands. While he has basic training in mechanical engineering – enough to perform patchy repairs on dodgy ships – she turns it into an art form. She has designed him training equipment that will push him further than any other training ever could; a belt that alters the gravity felt by the person wearing it.

"You'll finally be able to test the gravity gear," she says, echoing his thoughts as if she read his mind. She meets his gaze and in it he sees a reverence that makes him uncomfortable; he has become her beacon of hope for defeating Frieza. The air is heavy with all that sits between them; sexual tension layered thick on top of the pressure of survival and success. They have already dodged multiple attacks from Frieza's empire, and they both know this nameless planet will not keep them safe for long.

But she stares at him as if he will protect her forever, her blue eyes bright in her pale face, her entire body leaning forward in invitation, and part of him wants nothing more than to close the distance between them and fuck her hard against the console, consequences be damned.

He's smarter than that.

"I'll tell the men we've found a planet," he says, thankful for an excuse to leave the room.


	24. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 755_

She steps into the ship's common room and finds that all three Saiyans are already there, their voices low as they speak in the heavy, guttural phrases of their own language. Speaking anything other than Standard was forbidden within the Planet Trade Organisation, and surprisingly, it's a rule the Saiyans appeared to comply with, but here on the ship she has become used to the odd sounds of the Saiyan language.

Though their conversation continues without falter, all three men glance at her as she strides past them to claim the remaining couch, and although she's spent the last four months stuck on this ship with them, the hair on the nape of her neck still prickles. She has become painfully aware of the Saiyans' instincts and her very Human reactions to them on this journey – the way the Saiyans observe every movement in a room is so predatory in nature that it never fails to send a shiver down her spine, her body recognising that she is physically weaker, slower, and more vulnerable.

It is this that has strengthened her resolve to build better weapons to arm herself with. It's her pet project, and she settles back into the couch, scribbling designs for her next set of weapons in her notebook. She ignores the men, their deep voices nothing more than white noise as her focus returns to her work.

She is so engrossed in working through an equation that at first she misses that they have switched to speaking Standard.

" _Bulma_ " Vegeta snaps, loud enough to make her jump. She looks up to find three pairs of black eyes staring at her with a level of intensity that makes her uncomfortable.

"Huh? What's up?" she asks, doing her best to appear unfazed. The holograph of their destination, the planet known only as NX5GVT4, glows blue in the centre of the room, and she sits up straight, noting the stiff set to Vegeta's shoulders. "What's wrong?" she asks him directly.

Nappa answers. "Vegeta says you were the one who found the planet we're heading for."

"Yeah, and? It's only five days away – I though you guys would be happy to get off this ship."

Nappa snorts, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "I  _am_ , and I can't  _wait_  to see the moon," he says, nodding at the hologram, and the sadistic tenor to his voice puts her on edge. Out of the three Saiyans, he's the one she's the least comfortable with. "Do you even know what happens during a full moon, girl? You better be hiding when it happens."

_Ah._

She crosses her legs with a sigh, the fabric of her heavy workpants rustling. Vegeta's brow lifts – in curiosity, she thinks – and she sets her notebook aside, girding herself for a discussion she has both anticipated and dreaded. She's so far avoided disclosing just how much she already knows about Saiyans.

"I do, actually. I've seen it before."

"Seen  _what_ exactly _?_ " Vegeta's brows draw downwards, distrust and impatience marking his voice. His tail, unfurled and resting across his thighs, twitches, a sure sign of his irritation.

Still, she finds an irritated Vegeta easier to deal with than a sadistic Nappa. Raditz, thankfully, is actually relatively mellow for a Saiyan –  _it must run in the family_ , she thinks – and simply leans back in his chair, observing everything.

"The… transformation," she answers, gesturing at Vegeta's tail. " _Oozaru_ , I think you call it?" she adds, the Saiyan word feeling thick on her tongue. Vegeta's gaze sharpens, his frown becoming even more pronounced, and the other Saiyans still. Suddenly it feels as if the all the air has been sucked out of the room.

"Explain."

She shifts forward, reaching for the tablet that sits beside Vegeta. He hands it to her woodenly, and she ignores his glare as she begins to key in demands for the holograph display, searching through the files she has backed up on the ship's main computers.

Raditz snorts. "Relax, Vegeta. She's seen it on a video file."

"No, I've seen it in person, actually," she replies, and although she doesn't look up from the tablet she's working on, she practically feels the weight of their eyes on her. " _There,_ " she adds, and looks up as the holograph changes to display a Planet Trade Organisation file titled  _Kakarot/Son Goku_. Goku's face stares out at them, his childish features drawn back in a snarl that she can now see is so very Saiyan in nature. She knows it is a screenshot that was taken directly from Zarbon's scouter feed moments before he killed Goku.

It hurts to stare at the image for too long, but she can't look away either, feeling somehow bound to acknowledge the sacrifice Goku made for her.

" _He_  is the first Saiyan I ever met," she says.

Silence fills the room, and she can hear her own heart hammering in her ears. It's been six years since Goku's death, but her grief still rises, clawing a raw wound in her heart. Raditz pales as if he has seen a ghost, and though his expression remains cold, his eyes fail to mask his shock.

"Kakarot," he reads from the file. "Saiyan. Deceased. Son of Bardock, deceased, and Gine, deceased. Brother of Raditz, PTO soldier." He turns towards her, an angry snarl curling his upper lip back to reveal sharp canines. "What the fuck is this?"

"This is me telling you that I knew your brother," she says, and her voice sounds cold to her own ears. She feels as if she has left her body and is observing everything from a distance, waiting patiently for a disaster to unfold. Saiyans, she has learnt, do not take well to surprises. "He was sent to Earth to purge it by the Saiyan regime on behalf of the PTO. He suffered a traumatic brain injury as a child and his memory of Vegetasei and his programming was wiped. He had no knowledge that he was a Saiyan – he was raised as a Human. I met him when he was 12. I didn't know him for long – only a few months, but he was a good kid. I saw him turn  _oozaru_  under our full moon, and he lost all control of himself. Someone cut off his tail before he could kill us all, and he had no memory of the incident."

She swallows back the lump that has formed in her throat. "He was an amazing fighter, and he died fighting Zarbon. He was trying to save me. I owe him my life, and I suppose it's one of the reasons I was open to working with you guys."

Raditz frowns back up at the holograph, and for a moment she catches a glimpse of the man Goku would have become, had he lived to be full grown.  _You look like him_ , she wants to say, but instead she bites her tongue and scrolls down the file on her tablet until the text in the holograph displays all the grisly the information about Goku's death, and the details about his relationship to her. She chews on her bottom lip as the three Saiyans read quietly.

"There was nothing on your file about this  _Kakarot_ ," Vegeta says, his voice dangerously low, and when she meets his gaze it sends a cold shiver down her spine.

"I erased it," she replies, her voice no more than a whisper. "I wasn't… I didn't know how to have this conversation with any of you."

"You said you wanted to be  _transparent,_ " Vegeta spits, referring to their last private conversation before they escaped from Frieza, and she feels her face flush, a physical reaction to the waves of anger rolling off of him.

"You have to understand that this is difficult for me to talk about," she says defensively, her voice rising. "He is dead because of me. He was my friend. I  _loved_  him like a brother."

Vegeta's face shutters, and he disappears entirely, reappearing only an inch from her face. She rears back, her head hitting the wall behind her as Vegeta's arms strike at the couch behind her back, forming a cage around her. For the first time in years she is afraid of him.

He can smell it, too. She sees his nostrils flare, and his gaze darkens. "Do not claim a relation to one of us Saiyans, you weak  _Human._ You are beneath our kind," he sneers before stalking out of the room.

Nappa and Raditz rise, shooting death glares her way as they follow their leader. Nappa, petulant as ever, shuts off the lights on his way out, leaving her alone in the glowing light of the hologram.

She reaches forward, shutting it off, and Goku's face blinks out of sight.


	25. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 755_

He settles into the pilot's chair, taking the ship's controls in hand and switching off the autopilot. The planet glows blue and green before them, and he gives the thrusters one last push, beginning their descent.

Entry runs smoothly; he's piloted a similar ship before, and although it's been years since then it feels natural. He ignores Raditz, who stands hovering, keeping a watchful eye over the flight. Vegeta knows it drives the man mad to sit back and let someone else pilot, and he smirks, finding humour in his subordinate's discomfort.

They glide over blue oceans that remind him of Bulma's eyes, and he can't help but glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She remains belted into her seat, her back turned to him and her shoulders set in angry defiance. In the days since she revealed her connection to Raditz' brother she has spoken to him only when absolutely necessary, her usually animated voice devoid of all emotion.

The situation pisses him off, and all his pleasure at flying the ship dissipates as he goes over their conversation again. The fucking thing has been playing on repeat in his head for days, and it's driving him mad. In the heat of the moment he'd scared her, and the gnawing sensation in his gut over that fact is unpleasant. He doesn't like feeling guilty.

He'd been furious that she'd kept information from him. It wasn't her right to decide what he could and couldn't know – not in this agreement that they had, not when a Saiyan was involved. She's lied by omission. And something in the way she'd spoken about Kakarot had driven him mad – he'd watched the way she looked up at the picture of the boy, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and felt absolute pure fury bubble in his core. She'd said she loved the boy like a brother.  _Fucking hell._

And he knows that part of his anger stems from the fact that they lost another Saiyan without even realising it. Frieza, as usual, had been one step ahead, smoking out any Saiyans that had been sent on infiltration missions as infants. He knows of at least two other Saiyan children that have died at Zarbon's hands – both female – and the loss of his race eats away at him like nothing else can. What good is a Prince without people to rule? What use is his Saiyan pride when their planet is nothing but dust?

He wonders if there are any others out there – save his useless brother – and whether the woman could have gathered such information from Frieza's databank. It's a thought that's plagued him often in the months since they escaped.

He remembers the way Zarbon gloated about the death of the second girl, the child's severed head hanging by her black hair in Zarbon's grip, her eyes open and sightless, her features dull and bloated with rigor mortis. " _Proof for Lord Frieza_ ," Zarbon had practically purred,  _"because we can't let you monkeys breed. I'm confident she was the last female, though there's still a boy or two to hunt down."_

He'd attacked Zarbon at that point, and almost died in the ensuing fight. That was not long before Bulma had arrived on Frieza's flagship for the first time.

A growl bubbles up his throat because, as usual, his thoughts lead back to  _her_. He flies the ship low over grassy green planes, landing it at the edge of a forest that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can see already that it's a good place to make camp; there's a river nearby, and the grasslands and forest should provide ample food for them all. Combined with the plants Bulma purchased on their one and only supply run after Culampu, they are well-set to live comfortably on this empty planet.

He has a long way to go before he reaches Frieza's level in power. They're likely to be here for a while.

He rises from his chair, turning towards Bulma. The men have already disembarked, eager to start their hunting. He's given them three days leave on the proviso that they report back if they find any undocumented natives hiding about, and he doubts he will see either of them before sunset on the third day.

"I'm going hunting," he tells Bulma. "Lock the ship if you leave. I'll be back at sunset."

"Sure," she replies, her back still turned. "Have fun torturing things to death," she adds, and there's just enough judgement in her tone to get his hackles up.

_Damn her._

. . .

The cool wind feels good after months of recycled air, and he takes in big, gulping breaths as he rises high above the ship, taking off in the opposite direction to Nappa and Raditz. He finds his first victims within a minute, a herd of lumbering four-legged mammals that tower over his frame, and a cruel grin breaks out on his face. He's going to enjoy this.

He strips off quickly – hunting is messy, and they have limited clothing supplies – leaving his spandex and boots hidden behind a rock. The wind tickles his balls, and he throws his head back and laughs. It's been too long since he has done this.

He springs forward, a growl rumbling low in his throat, and runs beside the herd, scattering the animals in all directions as he goes for the largest one. It shrieks, its four eyes rolling back in its head as he jumps at it, kneeing it in the side. Its legs give way and he wastes no time in tearing at its throat with his teeth, drinking the hot red blood that gushes from a severed artery, the animal's legs still churning in the air. It's metallic and salty and refreshing, and he leans back, crowing in delight as blood covers him, staining his bronze skin red.

Blood alone is not enough to sustain him, and he tears at the animal's fur with his hands, the skin coming away easily to reveal layers of fat and red meat. He bites at it with a snarl, barely chewing each piece, until nothing is left but hollowed bones. He sucks out the last piece of marrow, and leaves the remains where they are, taking to the air in search of more prey.

. . .

He retrieves his clothing as the sun dips towards the horizon, turning a corner of the blue sky bright red. The colour is similar enough to Vegetasei's skies to jar him, and he dresses quickly, eyes focused on the ground. He's bathed in a lake he found earlier, a refreshing change from the chlorinated water of the ship.

As he flies back to the ship he catches a whiff of smoke in the air, and increases his speed, the idea of the ship burning and leaving him stranded here giving rise to panic. Relief floods through him as he sees that the ship is still intact, and he flies over it, heading for the plume of smoke in the distance.

It's Bulma, and he watches from high above as she adds another log to the fire she has built. He drops, landing silently behind her, examining the spit she has put together with metal rods salvaged from her scraps, the carcasses of two small animals, gutted and skinned, roasting over the fire.

The woman can  _hunt_.

Still, she's too careless with her surroundings, completely unaware of his presence in the dimming light as she sits on a rock beside the crackling flames. The last of the sunlight catches on her blue hair, for once worn loose around her shoulders, and the beauty of her form is striking. She looks natural in this setting, and he wonders how similar this place is to her home planet.

He wants her.

"Bulma."

She shrieks, jumping to her feet and whirling around, her gun in hand. He dodges a shot aimed at his head –  _at least that's improving_  – and smirks, crossing his arms in front of him.

" _Fuck!_ " she hisses, clutching a hand to her chest. "Don't  _do_  that!"

"Then don't be so unaware of your surroundings, idiot. You'll get yourself killed."

"Yeah, well, you'd be dead if you didn't move so fast," she grumbles in reply, and it sounds as if she wishes she'd hit him. "I  _can_  shoot a gun, you know." She levels a steely glare at him and drops the weapon at her feet. "I'm not helpless," she adds, tipping her chin up and crossing her arms.

"Hn," he concedes with a nod.

"And I'm not beneath you Saiyans," she continues. "I may not have your strength or speed, but I am fucking  _intelligent_. I can make machines you can't even dream of. My weapons can be just as deadly as your ki blasts. It was  _my_ plan to escape Frieza." She pauses, her eyes searching his face. "I need you to see me – to  _treat me_  – as an equal. If you can't do that, then – "

"I  _know_ ," he says, the words falling from his mouth before he can stop himself. It's the closest he'll ever go to admitting that he already ranks her higher than his men; he trusts her opinion far more than those fools. Her eyes search his face once more and find what they're looking for; her hostility dissolves, her shoulders slumping. She breaks eye contact, her gaze settling on the first stars appearing in the clear sky, before finally looking him in the eye once more.

"I'm sorry I kept the information about Goku from you," she says with a sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Raditz told me what Frieza's been doing to all the Saiyan children he finds. He told me what Zarbon did to that little girl. It's… beyond upsetting. It's not nice to be the last of your kind, but to have that..." She trails off with a shake of her head.

"No," he replies, and realises for the first time that of course, she  _does_ understand what it is like to be the last of her kind. He wonders suddenly if it bothers her that there are no Human males left. The thought unsettles him more than it should.

"Is that why Zarbon took part in Earth's purge?" she asks, her voice quiet in the cool air.

"I don't know. Probably."

"So Goku would have been killed, regardless of whether I was there or not?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to, because she's already drawn those conclusions herself. She turns away, her face twisting as if she is in physical pain, her fists pressed over her heart.

" _Bastard,_ " she curses quietly. He can't tell whether it's directed at Zarbon or Frieza. Perhaps both. He watches her profile; the flickering fire throwing light and shadow across her delicate features. She is entirely different to the Saiyan women he remembers from his childhood, and yet there is something familiar about her steely determination, her resilience and utter refusal to be beaten.  _Had she been born a Saiyan…_

He cuts the thought short – it's a dangerous one. Everything, it seems, is dangerous when it comes to her. He turns, heading for the ship before he gets himself in real trouble.

"Vegeta!" she calls, and he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Tomorrow we'll test the gravity belt," she says, the wind hollowing out her words. "I'll see you in the morning."

It's a peace offering. He's not accustomed to  _this_ , but he nods. He'll take what she's willing to give him.


	26. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 755_

The wind has picked up, bringing with it a cold chill. Despite the cloudless skies above, a gust whips at her hair and pulls it across her face as soon as she steps foot off the ship's ramp. It's a stark reminder that no matter how much this planet  _looks_  like Earth, this is not the home that she's been longing for.

She crosses the vast field before her, the smell of crushed grass rising from under her feet as she approaches Vegeta. In seeing her he stops his exercises and rises from the ground in one fluid motion, his dark eyes watching her with the intensity of a predator stalking his prey.

"You have the gravity belt?" he demands before she's even reached him.

"Right here." She throws it across the final distance, Vegeta catching it with ease. He examines it critically, turning the small black box she's passed him around in his hands.

His brows crease. "Where is the  _belt?_ "

She bites back a smile. "Here," she gestures, taking the device back, their fingers brushing. For once, he's not wearing gloves.

She pulls the retractable belt out from the underside of the device. "See? It clips here," she shows him, turning it around. She shakes her head as the wind blows hair in her face once more, and wishes that she'd tied it back. "I'll help you put it on, but first you need to take your shirt off."

The questioning look he shoots her leaves her scrambling to explain herself.

"I need to do preliminary tests on you. I have an echocardiogram machine here," she adds, pulling a capsule out from her coveralls, "I need to measure your vitals before, during, and after using the gravity belt to help improve its performance – I mean, this is our first test run. I need data. Plus, it's not like I haven't seen you shirtless before," she blurts, wishing immediately that she could swallow those words back up again.

Vegeta snorts, and she swears she sees him roll his eyes as he peels his shirt off over his head. Standing this close, it's hard not to get distracted by the way his muscles shift, his bronze skin littered with the scars of past battles. Her eyes shift over his body, and when she looks back at him she realises he's been watching her. She blushes and turns away, opening out the ECG capsule.

"Don't move," she orders brusquely, peeling the protective layer off the first echocardiogram electrode and slapping it firmly against Vegeta's chest before he has a chance to react. He grunts in surprise and she turns her head against the wind, fumbling with a second electrode. Despite the cold air, she feels too hot.

" _Fuck,_ " she hisses under her breath as her hair catches in her eyes once more. Given the fact that she's half-way through sticking electrodes to Vegeta's bare torso, it's less than ideal. "I left all my hair ties back on the ship. Can you hold my hair back, just for a sec?" she asks him through a mouthful of hair. She catches the look of surprise on his face before it settles back into his regular mask, and she bites back another smile.

His hands gently frame her face, smoothing back through her hair until she can see again. She stands between the walls of his arms, the world around her suddenly still.

"Thanks," she whispers, biting at her bottom lip as she drags her gaze away from his curious eyes. This close, she can see that the iris of his eyes is not black at all, but a dark charcoal, only a shade or two lighter than his pupils. He blinks, long dark lashes brushing against his cheeks, and she practically melts.

He is a beautiful specimen of a man; both rough and smooth, the harshness of his expression at odds with those full lips and deep eyes.

"How many more do you need to place?" His voice is low, and she feels the rumble of his words under her hand as she places another sticker over his heart.

"Just another two on your back." Stepping forward, she reaches around him, her hands smoothing over his shoulder blades as she attaches the last of the electrodes. "There. It's done." Standing this close, she can smell his skin, a sweet musk that has her resisting the urge to press her lips to his neck.

She feels as if all of her senses are heightened, and tendrils of desire curl in her core.

She steps back, shaking her head until his hands fall from her hair. "We're good to go," she tells him, picking up the belt from the ground and looping it quickly around his waist, her hands accidentally catching his tail in her haste. Her fingers brush against the edge of his pants as she secures the clasp, her heart beating so loud in her chest that she swears he must be able to hear it.

"Ready?" she asks, nervous excitement coursing through her.

He nods, and she grins in reply.

. . .

The experiment is a success. They spend all day in the field, and as the sun dips towards the horizon Vegeta lowers himself to the ground for the final time, performing his last set of what she can only describe as  _katas_ , though she knows he has a Saiyan word for these ancient exercises.

Her voice is hoarse from yelling instructions over the wind all day, and she's starving, but she's overwhelmingly happy. Her invention has worked, taking Vegeta through ten, fifteen, twenty times normal gravity. She's controlled it all through her tablet, all the while collecting data on how much strain his body has been under.

Best of all, Vegeta seems pleased. For the first time, she sees him smile, watches him laugh as he flips through the air with the added force of 20Gs attached to him. There's something about it that tugs at her heart.

It's enough to  _almost_  forget about Frieza.

She powers the belt down, and he stands still before her as she peels off each electrode and unclips the belt. He could do it himself, but she's not about to tell him that. They're both quiet as she works, the moment surprisingly intimate. He smells of salt and sweat and soil – not an unpleasant thing – and when the wind pulls at her hair once more he lifts a hand and catches it for her, his thumb brushing her earlobe.

The  _wanting_  in his eyes is all the invitation she needs. She steps forward until she is pressed against him, and his hands settle on her waist as if they belong there. She shivers as he pulls her closer still, his need clear in the hardness that grinds against her stomach, even as his lips brush lightly against hers in question.

_Will she?_

She leans into his kiss, lips parted, answering in kind.

_Yes._


	27. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 755_

Reflex has his hand rising to catch her hair in the wind, but it's the look in Bulma's eye that has him brushing the soft strands back behind her ear. There is a split second where he questions whether he misread the signs, but then she steps forward, and he knows exactly where this will lead them.

He can smell her lust.

He pulls her close and she sighs, fitting against him, all curves and smiles. His cock aches with need. He kisses her carefully, holding back lest he break her delicate body, but she opens her mouth and pushes forward with such force that he cannot help the rumbling growl that rises from his chest. She bites his lower lip and all his restraint is undone, his hands skimming down to cup her ass and  _lift_  until her legs wrap around him and he can grind against her core. He's about to take to the air, feet hovering off the ground, when she breaks their kiss to utter "The equipment."

He nips at her neck, and feels the shiver run down her spine. "Fuck the equipment," he growls, taking her earlobe between his teeth. She likes that, moaning and digging her nails into his back, and he files this piece of information away for later.

He drags his teeth along the column of her neck once more, revelling in the taste of her skin, her pulse beating heavy under his tongue. She writhes against him, even as she pushes at his shoulder. "We can't leave this here –  _oh!_  Vegeta –  _ah_  – seriously, we need to pack up. We only have one gravity belt!"

He groans in frustration, but his feet touch the ground once more, and she untangles herself from him, unsteady on her feet. She flashes him a quick smile before bending to pick up the technology that's strewn about. Now that they've gone this far, he feels no shame in staring at the curve of her ass through her coveralls. She catches him looking and raises a brow.

"You could help me here, you know?" she grins, but she's already packed everything back into the capsule box. She closes the lid and the entire thing disappears. He shakes his head, still amazed by the technology she's able to produce.

"Are we walking or flying back?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips, "Or, are we doing this out here in the open?" she adds, waggling a delicate brow at him.

" _Tch!_ " His cheeks grow hot. "Don't be so vulgar!"

" _What!_ It's not like there's anyone around!" The glint in her bright blue eyes spells mischief, and her lips curve in a smile.

He shakes his head, realising too late that she's teasing him. He growls, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder, wincing as she screeches in his ear. "We're going back to the ship!" he states, his cheeks still burning.

. . .

He lets her lead him back through the ship to her bedroom, a small chamber that mirrors his across the hall. The door slides closed behind them with a click, and he leans back against this, watching as she crosses the room and opens up the first drawer in her dresser. It's the only piece of furniture in here, other than the bed.

She pulls out a small box and shakes it, shrugging at him. It takes him a moment to read the old-style lettering on the front, and when he does he raises one brow in question.

"I may have bought a decent amount of these back when we did that last supply run," she explains.

"How many is a decent amount?" he dares to ask.

"Umm… a thousand?"

"You bought  _a thousand_  condoms?!" he's caught somewhere between surprise, gratefulness, and amazement. It occurs to him that they very well might be necessary; if a Koribian could bear a Saiyan child, perhaps a Human could too, and has no desire to father children. "Where are you keeping them all?" he asks.

She blushes, running a hand back though her long hair, the pink on her cheeks making her appear softer, younger. "I thought it was better to be prepared I guess? I mean, I didn't know how long we'd be staying here, so I figured go hard or go home, you know? Besides, there's twenty to a box, so it's only 50 boxes," she rambles. "Oh, they're in the capsule in here," she adds, pointing in the drawer.

" _Go hard or go home?_ " he quotes.

"It's an Earth saying."

"I figured."

Silence falls between them, and Bulma shifts from foot to foot, the box of condoms still in her hands. He's not usually a talker, but he needs to fill the silence. "You planned on us having sex, then."

She looks him directly in the eye, shrugging again. "I figured it was likely. I mean, you're a good looking guy." She finally puts the box down, and reaches for the zipper on her coveralls, tipping her chin upwards as if girding herself for battle. "Don't just stand there, Vegeta. Come and help me undress."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Her coveralls, grey and shapeless, slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The spandex she wears beneath is much more form-fitting, and he hooks a finger under her crop top, grazing the underside of her breast as he looks to her for permission. The skin under his hand is softer than anything he's ever felt before.

"Go ahead," she whispers, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. He wastes no time in tugging her shirt up and over her head, sucking at her neck as his hands find the swell of her breasts and cup the weight of them. He's dreamt of touching her, of tasting her, many times in the past, but the reality is a thousand times better.

He shivers as she grasps at his tail, her nails running down through the fur, squeezing just enough to make him feel light-headed. Her free hand slides down his front, and when she slips this under his waistband to grab at him he feels as if he will explode.

He steps forward, pushing her until their legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back, taking him with her. He traces a trail down her body with his tongue, pulling off her remaining clothing as he goes, her toes hooking into his waistband until his own clothes are kicked away and he stands before her, naked and unguarded.

"Come here," she demands, and he acquiesces, sliding along her until he is caught in her embrace.

. . .

He wakes slowly, rising to the surface as if he has been floating underwater, knowing only that in this moment he is not alone. She sighs beside him, her breath feathering across his face, a tongue sliding along his ear even as her hand trails across his stomach and  _down_.

 _Bulma._  Her name floats back to him in the dark, and he turns into her as she wraps around him, rising above him in the dark, a goddess, skin as pale as the moon.

"Bulma." Gods, she is warm and soft and  _tight_ in all the right places. She's no warrior, but there's steel in her core, and when she pins his arms above his head he lets her, lets her ride him, lets her do what she must until her back arches and she cries out, and he is there to catch her.

" _Bulma_ ," he whispers, his nose buried in her hair, the smell of sex and sleep and  _her_ surrounding him. He's chasing his own release now, faster and faster, and she's a flame in his arms. She clutches at him as if she'll never let go, calling his name, spurring him on. He comes undone, and he is both full and empty at once, the sound of their ragged breaths anchoring him in the night.


	28. Bulma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank rutbisbe for her beautiful artwork for this fic, which you can find on her tumblr. I'll attach it to this fic once I've finished catching up with what has been posted on fanfiction.net.

**Bulma**

_Year 755_

She wakes as he untangles himself from her, sheets rustling softly as he rises from the bed. It's morning – the lights in her room have slowly begun to warm in time to the rising sun – and she blinks, bleary-eyed, at his naked form. It's a struggle to hold her eyes open, but one that is worth it for the sight of his muscled back, his bronzed skin marked by battle scars, and toned ass.

"Vegeta," she murmurs, still half asleep and unsure of what she's really trying to say. He turns and regards her for a moment, his gaze somehow  _softer_  than usual, before he slips out the door.

She rolls back under the blankets, feeling pleasantly boneless as she breathes in the scent of him on her pillow, and lets sleep drag her under again.

. . .

She finds him in the field, wearing both the gravity belt and ECG electrodes, the echocardiogram machine she's modified already collecting data. She smiles thoughtfully as he lands before her; the fact that he bothered to use the ECG without her belies just how important this training is to him. But of course, all their lives are on the line here, tied to the hope that he'll become strong enough to defeat Frieza.

_And what will happen then?_

She pushes the thought away, the sight of Vegeta, as smouldering as ever, a welcome distraction from her worries about the future. "How long have you been out here?" she asks, flashing him a smile.

He snorts, tilting his chin towards the sun, already high in the sky. "Hours. How was your morning lazing about in bed? It's almost noon," he mocks, humour dancing in his eyes.

She shakes her head. "I was tired," she replies. "Someone wore me out." It's enough to make him blush, and she grins, half expecting him to call her vulgar again. But she catches his eye, catches the same burning desire in his eyes that she feels for him, and bites at her lip.  _Damn._  It's tempting to drag him back to bed now, despite all the work they still have to do. The need to have him burns again in her core, and she's on the cusp of saying something when his attention is drawn to the distant sky.

He's frowning, all playfulness gone from his face, and she turns to stare in the same direction, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. "What is it?" she asks, peering up at the clear sky.

"One of the men. Nappa, from the sound of it."

The sound of Nappa's flight doesn't reach her until the shape of him tearing through the sky is clear to her Human eyes. She braces herself as he barrels towards them, the noise now ripping through the air, and she instantly misses the peace that she shared with Vegeta. Nappa lands with a thud in front of them, his bare chest covered in what looks to be dried blood, and she screws her nose up against the stench that's carried in the breeze. It's enough to make her want to gag.

"Hey Vegeta. You playing dress up?" he asks unceremoniously, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as Vegeta tenses, his guard up again. Gone is the sense of intimacy she was just sharing with him, and the flash of frustration towards Nappa that she experiences is startling in its intensity.

"Watch how you speak to me Nappa," Vegeta says, the warning clear in his voice. "And do not think about stepping foot in the ship before you've cleaned up."

"Aww, come on. The shower's inside."

"There's a lake that way. You reek. Sort yourself out and report back to me in an hour."

She coughs as Nappa kicks up dust, the smell, like a dead animal, hanging in the air long after he's disappeared from sight. She looks at Vegeta, sees the tight set to his shoulders, and sighs. No midday sex session, then. Instead she pulls up the data the ECG has collected, looking over Vegeta's vitals.

"It's looking positive so far. In theory, the gravity belt is creating enough strain on your body to increase the speed at which you gain strength." Grinning, she looks back up at him. "It's working!"

"Can you take it further? Increase the gravity beyond twenty times?"

The question catches her off guard. "We've only had one day of trails so far. I mean, the answer's yes, but… there's increased risks. If –"

"Twenty times is not enough. I  _need_  it to go to a hundred, at least." She's surprised by the sudden desperation in his voice, the agitated look in his eyes.

"If I increase it too quickly you could die." Something flickers in his gaze at her words, and she instantly regrets mentioning death. She can practically see the gears turning in his mind, and knows it's to do with Saiyan healing and their growth in power after near-death experiences.

"You're no good to us dead," she reiterates.

"I need you to increase the gravity. I won't reach… I need to get stronger."

She pauses, searching his face, alarm bells ringing in her mind. "What aren't you telling me?" she asks quietly, cocking her head to the side to look him over once more. "What won't you reach?"

His left eye twitches – a tick she's noticed appears whenever he's frustrated – and she knows she's hit a nerve. She feels as if they're balanced on a knife edge, can sense his urge to erect the wall he usually carries around him once more, and knows that if she pushes him too far he'll just pull further away.

And so his raw honesty is all the more surprising. "Super Saiyan," he says with quiet determination. "I need to become Legendary."

 _Legendary._  She opens her mouth and closes it again, biting back her automatic remark.  _It's just a legend._  He seems to sense what she's thinking, though, his frown deepening. "It's more than just a legend, Bulma. It is my destiny."

She knows better than to argue against him on this one. "I'll work on developing a stronger gravity belt," she concedes. "I have enough materials for another two – it will take some time to build!" she adds. It's a white lie – it will take her less than a day, now that she's constructed the first one, but he doesn't have to know that. She's not willing to risk him killing himself, and though they have a regen tank on board, they have limited supplies of the healing liquid. "The one you're using can be used by the other guys once I make one with a greater range."

"Good."

She nods, glancing at the ECG once more. "It looks like you're fine using this machine without me here. I'll be in my lab if you need me. Just pack it up at the end of the day and bring the capsule to me so I can download the data."

She turns and leaves without a backwards glance, her gut churning with the realisation that Vegeta – cold, calculated Vegeta – is clinging so desperately to a fairy tale.

. . .

She spends the afternoon researching Super Saiyans from the files she has downloaded over the years. There's little material to work with, and she can find nothing substantial, nothing that satisfies her that the Super Saiyan is more than just a legend. There's no  _proof_. The more she looks, the less she seems to find.

As the sun sets she emerges from the spare bedroom that she has turned into a makeshift lab, and finds that Raditz has returned, thankfully in a better condition than Nappa. Both men report that there is nothing but greenery and blue oceans on the other side of the planet, and she breathes a sigh of relief as she sits across from them in the common room. They are safe here, for now.

Raditz says something in Saiyan than makes Vegeta blush and growl under his breath, and she knows it's about her. She doesn't have the patience to deal with it right now, so leaves the men to their gossip and heads to bed.

. . .

She can't sleep. Vegeta's admission about becoming a Super Saiyan has unsettled her more than it should have, an unexpected factor in her plans to defeat Frieza. She tosses and turns, and in the dark pulls out her tablet, reading once more through the only substantial source she managed to find, a digitised copy of an old book on Saiyan legends. She reads until the words begin to blur together on the page, the stories of murder and bloodshed making her sick to her stomach, more so because the Saiyans treat the murderers as heroes. She puts the tablet away, huddling down under the blankets, knowing full well that the men she is living with now share the same mentality as their ancestors who wrote that book.

Sleep still evades her. She feels cold. She feels tired. She feels alone.

And though she's just reminded herself of the billions that Vegeta has killed, the scent of him is still there on her sheets, and she finds herself wanting him, wanting to bridge whatever gaps exist between them. She rises without really thinking, barely remembering to take a condom with her, and slips out the door, lifting a hand to knock softly at his bedroom.

The door slides open, and his mouth is on hers before she can utter a single word, his hands blazing hot against her cold skin. She lets him pull her inside, hardly registers the door hissing closed behind her before she is pushed up against it roughly, his lips searing her skin as he drags her top down and her breasts spring free. He's already naked, and she runs her hands over his body, enjoying the feel of him, taking pleasure in the simple act of touching him.

"Vegeta," she half moans, half pleads. His tail slides through her hand, corded muscle hard under the fur, and he groans into her mouth. He likes it, she's found, and his hard erection nudges at her thigh. She pushes him towards the bed and he carries her there, tugging off her clothes before she hits the mattress.

She pulls him down on top of her, the solid weight of him a comfort to her. There's no knowing where this will lead them; she only knows that she needs this now.


	29. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 755_

He sits atop the ship and watches Bulma tend to the garden she has grown in the fading light, the last rays of sun gilding her hair with gold. The small seedlings she brought with her to this new world now tower above her, the vines twisting through the scaffolding she has set for them, red fruit hanging ripe and ready for picking.  _Soon,_  she told him yesterday.  _Don't eat them yet._

She once told him that she doesn't enjoy gardening. He finds it hard to believe when he sees her like this, her fingers stained with grease and soil and the chlorophyll of the weeds she's pulled up. She still hasn't noticed him watching her; blissfully unaware as she takes a red fruit –  _space strawberries_ , she calls them – straight from the vine and pops it in her mouth. Her moan is enough to make his cock twitch; her mouth was moaning around  _that_  this morning, and the sight of her now – hair loose and coveralls open to the waist, nothing but her skimpy crop top on underneath – has him growing hard in seconds.

He remains where he is. There is something private about this moment, her alone amongst the plants she has nurtured, and though she never speaks of it, he knows it somehow connects her to her home world.

It is the difference between them. She creates things with her hands, grows things, and makes things new.

He stands, turning his back to her, and scans the scenery before him. The once green field is marred with the scars of his training, craters and charred soil filling the landscape. The forest here has long been decimated, blackened stumps rising dead out of the ground at all angles. He now flies further for his hunts, the animals in the local vicinity all but wiped out.

This is the nature of a Saiyan. He only knows how fight, to kill, and to destroy.


	30. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 756_

Noise pulls her from her sleep with a jolt, and she blinks into the darkness, disorientated. The noise, she realises, is Vegeta; he's groaning, almost whimpering in his sleep, and she knows at once that he's having another nightmare.

She resists the temptation to reach out and touch him. She's made that mistake once before, and ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor before he came to and realised that he'd attacked her, and not the foe in his night terrors.

Instead she rises out of bed, taking a pillow with her, and crosses the room to manually switch on the light. "Vegeta," she says softly. He tosses his head, groaning once more. " _Vegeta_ ," she says a little louder, "wake up."

He stills, and she thinks for a moment that it is over, that she's safe to get back into bed. It's not; he screams and she jumps at the noise, flinging the pillow across the room at him. It hits him square in the chest and he screams again, in anger this time, and in a flurry of movement the pillow is destroyed, torn and blasted to shreds. She steps forward, quickly brushing out a small flame on the bedcover, the room suddenly filled with the stench of scorched feathers.

He's awake now, sitting upright, his breathing heavy. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she bends to pick up the majority of the loose feathers, noting the shell-shocked look on his face, but does not acknowledge him. She knows how much it bothers him to be seen like this. This is the Vegeta he keeps hidden from everyone, even her; the tortured soul, the man whose mind cannot escape Frieza's wrath.

And she understands, because she can't escape Frieza either. He haunts her dreams, along with Zarbon, along with her dead friends and her burning planet, and Vegeta has saved her from her nightmares more times than she can count.

It's 4am, but neither of them will sleep now. "I'm going to go take a shower," she says, looking him in the eye for the first time. "Wanna join me?" She knows already that he'll accept her offer; her body is the only solace he seems to find on nights like these.

The tortured look on his face recedes as he slides that part of him away and out of reach once more. He nods once, and follows her, naked, down the hall.

. . .

She remains under the stream of hot water as he peels himself away from her, her eyes scanning the hard muscles of his back as he turns and disposes the used condom in the bin. He catches her gaze in the reflection of the mirror and huffs, glancing away as he washes his hands and reaches for his toothbrush. Despite the sex, the air is tense; it has been for days now, and she knows why.

He's hit a plateau.

She has monitored his training every day for the past year. In that time she has watched his power increase steadily as he has pushed through, twenty, fifty, one hundred, three hundred,  _four hundred times_  standard gravity. His power level has increased beyond anything that she could have ever imagined. It is an amazing achievement.

But it's not enough. The set of his shoulders is as tense as ever as he steps back into the shower cubicle, and for a moment he reminds her of how he used to be, back on Frieza's ship, wound tight enough that she feared he might explode. She shifts to the side, allows him to step under the stream of water as she massages a dollop of conditioner into her hair. It's another one of their items that is getting low in stock, and she makes a mental note to remind Raditz not to waste it on his crazy hair.

She bites at her bottom lip, toying with the idea of saying anything. She's never been one to hold back her words with him, but it has been two weeks since his power last increased, and she's been exercising her patience, waiting for him to talk about it.

"What?" he sneers.

She passes him the shampoo bottle, and they switch places once more, so she can rinse her hair.

"I think, with the training, that maybe you need to try something different," she says, closing her eyes as the hot water runs over her face. In truth, she's hiding from his murderous expression. Perhaps the shower wasn't the best place for this conversation.

"You  _think_." Her eyes are still closed, but she can hear the disdain in his voice, the volume amplified within the cubicle.

"It's been two weeks since you've made progress." Her eyes are open now, and she places her hands on his shoulders, not in pity, but in a vain attempt to hold his brimming anger at bay. "You are  _fifty times_  stronger than you were a year ago. It's something to be proud of. But it's tapered off. Maybe…"

"Maybe  _what?_ "

"I don't know." An awful thought – that he's reached the limit of his abilities – plays at the edge of her mind, but she won't give voice to it. She pulls her hands away and steps around him completely, reaching for her towel.

"The Legendary is real," he says.

She doesn't meet his eye as she begins to dry herself. "I never said that it isn't."

"But you think  _it!_ " he yells suddenly, loud enough to make her jump, his voice echoing in the small bathroom. He looks at her as if she has betrayed him.

And here it is; the crux of the matter. She is a glutton for punishment, because she cannot help herself. "There is no concrete evidence of it, Vegeta," she tells him. "I am a scientist. I look for facts. That's what I base my judgements on. I have searched all of the databases I can, and there is no known  _evidence_  of any Super Saiyan. It's all hearsay."

They are silent, the spray of the shower the only noise in the room. "I'm not saying you can't get stronger," she adds quietly.

She's hurt him; for a moment she can see the raw pain, the fear, behind his eyes. In an instant it is gone, replaced with a snarl and barely-leashed tension. "Get. Out."

She doesn't like being told what to do, and she hates not having the last word, but she knows she's already said too much. Wrapping her towel tight around her, she leaves the bathroom. She's angry now; angry because everything was going to plan and for a time she had actually  _believed_  that they would do it, that Vegeta's power would supersede Frieza's and they'd all be safe. Bitter tears sting at the back of her eyes.

She stops short of her room as Raditz steps into the hall in nothing but his underwear. He takes one look at her, his nostrils flaring, and screws his nose up in disgust. "Aww come on!" he moans. "Is there no place on this ship that is sacred? Now I have to take a dump with the bathroom smelling like you and Vegeta fucking."

"Not now Raditz," she hisses, moving to step around him. He cuts her off, and although she knows he's teasing, she snaps. "Get the  _fuck_ out of my way!"

She pushes past him, holding her tears back until the bedroom slides closed behind her. She sinks to the ground.

Head pressed to her knees, she whispers to herself.  _"What are we going to do?"_

. . .

Raditz is sporting a fresh black eye when she sees him next. "You could have warned me Vegeta was still in the bathroom," he mutters between mouthfuls of rehydrated grain pudding.

"You could have used your brain," she retorts, mixing up her own batch of pudding for breakfast. After months of eating the stuff she's sick of it, but it's a hundred times better than the shit they used to feed her on Frieza's ship, so she can't complain.

"He's in a bad mood," Raditz continues.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"He flew off a while back."

"I figured."

She finishes her single bowl in silence, while Raditz polishes off another four. With a sigh, she picks up her garden scissors from where she left them the night before. It's time to harvest some more beans, and although she's never been a fan of greens, she's thankful that it'll be a break from their monotonous menu.

"So that's it, then."

"What?" She turns to find Raditz frowning down at her, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "What's 'it'?" she asks. She's in no mood for riddles.

"We're fucked. Vegeta's not strong enough."

"Not strong enough  _yet_ ," she hisses. "His power level has jumped from 18,000 to 900,000 in the space of a year. There has to be more." She can't push her gravity belt any higher, though, and she knows that's part of the problem. Gravity training just isn't enough anymore.

"Maybe we can shoot him through the stomach again."

"No!" She shudders at the thought. Six months ago she came in to find Vegeta being loaded into the regeneration tank, a gaping hole carved right through his middle. And yes, his power increased dramatically after that, but the terror of him coming so close to death was not worth it.

"Frieza's power is over a million."

"I  _know_."

"You need to figure out a way to get him stronger."

"Why me?" she demands. "I'm not a Saiyan! Why don't  _you_ figure it out?"

"Because you're the one who sold him this crackpot story that he could actually beat Frieza," Nappa interjects. She whirls around and finds him towering over her. "So you need to fix it. Pray to your little Human god if you must," he sneers. "Oh that's right, you can't. He's  _dead_."

She shakes her head, regretting that she ever told them that she met  _Kami_  on the night before Zarbon captured her. "You're a fucking bastard, Nappa." She wants to stab him with her scissors.

She heads for the garden instead.

. . .

She can't get the thought of Kami out of her head. As the heat of the day burns away into a cool evening breeze, she continues to hack at her garden, decapitating plants that threaten to bolt to seed, and digging new holes for her seedlings. All the while the memory of her old god bothers her; as if there's something important that she's supposed to remember.

He was the creator of the Dragonballs. She's seen them work; she's seen Shenron. If Kami was still alive, there'd be another way out of this mess.

" _Why don't we wish for all of Frieza's men to die?"_  she'd asked him, on the eve of battle.  _"Shenron could kill them."_

" _No, he can't. His power is tied to mine."_

" _Then why are you here?"_  she'd snapped at him bitterly.  _"If you know we're all going to die tomorrow, why the hell did you bother training Goku?!"_

" _Because not all of you are going to die."_  Kami had replied.  _"Some of you will live, and travel to space. Don't be afraid. It's where I'm from, you know."_

She hisses, pulling a wayward thorn out of her thumb, and bites down on her wound. The iron tang of blood floods her mouth, but she barely notices it. She stares at the setting sun, glowing as bright as Shenron in the sky, and shakes her head.  _It's where I'm from, you know._

 _Space._  She can't believe she never saw it before.  _Kami wasn't a god. He was an alien._  "Fucking Kami," she swears, but she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. It's a longshot, but perhaps – just perhaps – there's more like Kami out there.

. . .

She pushes her modified night-vision goggles over her face – she's added a built-in scouter to the design – and takes her hover bike out over the grassy plains. Vegeta's only half an hour's ride away, by the nearest lake, and she's made this trip a number of times before.

He doesn't move from his place when she finds him, perched on a flat rock that juts out over the edge of the water. She scrambles up the bank to sit beside him, her legs dangling off of the edge. She takes off her goggles, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light from the crescent moon. It's peaceful here, with the slow chirp of insects, and the odd call of an animal in the night.

It's lonely, too. She was never much of a people person before, but she misses people now. She misses the city, the flashing neon and honking car horns, and even the streets that smell like piss. This land is too empty.

It's lonely, but she no longer feels alone. She places her hand on Vegeta's knee, feels him tense for a moment, before he allows her to lean into him.

"Vegeta," she whispers, her heart pounding because once she says it there's no going back. "If you could have one wish, what would it be?"


	31. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_**Year 756** _

They sit on the edge of the lake in the dark, and he listens to Bulma's childhood stories – the ones he always told her he was not interested in hearing – for over an hour. When given the chance she could talk forever, and it takes what seems like an eternity for her to get to her point: the magical balls, and the question that she baited him with at the start of this conversation.

"The dragonballs were so much about  _magic_  –  _Kami's_  magic – and I saw Kami  _die_ ," she pauses, throwing her arms in the air dramatically, "that it never even occurred to me that the same kind of magic could exist outside of Earth."

"I thought you were a woman of science."

"Science requires evidence. I've  _seen_  this magic – I've seen the proof. Besides, I made a radar that could detect dragonballs, back when I was a kid. So yes it's magic, but magic that gives off certain electromagnetic waves that I can tap into."

"So what are you telling me?" He knows exactly what she's telling him, but he needs to hear it from her lips.

She hesitates, and the pause – no longer than a heartbeat – is enough for him to notice.

"I'm telling you that I searched for 'green aliens' with Kami's characteristics – antennae, pointy ears, you name it – in the universal database and I found a match.  _Namekians_. From the planet Namek. They look just like Kami."

He remains silent for a long time after she finishes talking; long enough to make her begin to squirm, kicking her legs our over the ledge they sit on like a bored child. The moon has dipped low in the sky now, and she's cold; he can see it in the gooseflesh that ripples over her arms. Still, he makes her wait. Let her crack first.

He needs the time to process his own thoughts, anyway.  _What would you wish for?_ The prospect of wishing for anything is tempting, and yet it seems almost shameful. Could he wish to become a Super Saiyan? Would he? No, that would be too easy – the Legendary cannot be something you wish for, it must be something that you  _do_ , without help. Still, there are other wishes that could be made; imagine, if he were immortal –

"Vegeta," Bulma interrupts. "Tell me what you're thinking." There's a hint of fear in her demand. She's nervous about passing this information onto him, unsure of how he will react. She has trusted him with a great many things over the past few years, but she does not fully trust him on this matter. The fact that she doesn't stings more than he would like to admit.

"How do you even know that more of these dragonballs will exist?" he asks, snarling more than he means to. "Your Kami told you they would disappear with his death."

"I don't." She's picked up on his mood, and her hand lifts to touch his cheek. She's almost completely blind in the dark, but her eyes still dance across his face, trying to read him. "The first step would be to build a radar. I've done it before, but to try and build one that could detect dragonballs on an intergalactic scale… I'd need very specific tech, stuff we don't have here. We'd have to leave this planet."

"Then we'll leave."

She nods without a hint of surprise, and catches his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "Obviously, we'll all have to agree on a wish."

 _Ah, there it is_. This is what she doesn't trust him with; the wish. He can sense the tension running through her arm, her fingers gripping his hand a little too tightly. She's afraid of what he might plan. "Agree?" he questions, just to piss her off. "You seem to have forgotten who I am. I am a Prince. There is no such thing as democracy in Saiyan culture."

"Then I won't build your radar and you won't find your dragonballs," she quips, but there's no humour in her response. She's deadly serious, afraid, and they might as well be back on Frieza's ship when they first met, back when she so desperately bargained with him for her escape.

He's pissed off now. He grips her arm and leans into her, until his lips brush against the shell of her ear. "You're afraid of me."

She's tense under his hands. He counts the long breaths she takes,  _five, six, seven_ , until she seems to melt, and her head bows until it rests on his shoulder. "Maybe I'm afraid of parts of you," she whispers. "I know  _I_  have nothing to be afraid of. I know you'll never hurt  _me_. I've known that for a very long time. I care about you, more than you probably realise, and I think you care for me more than you'll ever admit to yourself, but… you're still a terrifying man." She pauses again, for longer this time, reaching for his hands once more, her breath feathering across his neck. "It would be easier if we could just stay on this planet forever, but we can't. And we'll either die, or you'll win. Frieza will be destroyed, and you'll lay his head at my feet like you promised me, and then what? Sometimes I wonder if I am just helping the next monster rise to the top. You won't hurt me, but you'll mow down anyone else that gets in your way. What does that say about me?"

"I am not the same as Frieza," he snarls, and her nails dig into his palms.

"I know that!" she snaps.

"Do you?" He wants to shake her. He wants to fuck her out here in the open, to prove to her that he is the man she wants him to be, and not the man she fears. He wants to know why she has so little faith in him.

He wants to tell her that he is afraid of becoming like Frieza. He wants to tell her that he has never had a chance to decide his own fate until now. He wants her to realise that Frieza made him the man he is today; that until now he has had no choice over how his life unfolded.

He wants to tell her that she is as culpable as he is; that he has seen her ki whips and guns and chains out on the battlefield, that he has seen a thousand men die facing the barrels of her weapons. He wants to remind her that she is a murderer, too.

He can't say any of it. The words won't form on his lips.

Perhaps she knows what he is thinking. Her lower lip trembles, and tears run down her face. She brushes them away angrily, shaking her head.

"I am afraid," she says quietly. "But I'm not afraid of you. Just everything else."

 _You think I am not?_ he almost asks, but there are things his pride will not let him say, even to her.

They sit in silence once more, until she says "I'm cold," and he picks her up and flies her back to the ship. Once in their room he does fuck her, long and slow, telling her with his hands and his body what he cannot say with his voice – that she's the only good thing that has ever happened in his life – and she falls apart under him.

Later, he watches Bulma sleep, her limbs thrown haphazardly over him as he replays their conversation again in his mind.

" _Sometimes I wonder if I am just helping the next monster rise to the top."_

"No," he tells her sleeping form. "You're not."


	32. Bulma

**Bulma**

_Year 756_

She sits at the table in the common room, sketching out the design for her original dragonball radar. It should be an easy task – the first step towards building a far stronger scanner – but she is distracted by the three men sitting on the couches behind her.

_There is no such thing as democracy in Saiyan culture._

Vegeta's words replay in her mind as she listens to him  _tell_  Nappa and Raditz that they are all leaving this planet. He speaks in Standard for her benefit, and although she has her back to them all, she can practically feel two sets of eyes throwing daggers at her from across the room.

The room falls silent as Vegeta finishes his explanation with simple orders: Raditz is to help her harvest all the remaining food in the garden and transplant all the plants they can take with them, while Nappa will ready the ship for take-off. They will leave in the evening.

And just like that, her world shifts once more.

. . .

Raditz is silent as he plucks beans from the vines that stretch in rows down the garden, dropping each one into a bucket, his movements surprisingly gentle for such a large man. He speaks only to ask which plants need to be brought back into the ship, and otherwise ignores her presence, despite the fact that she is working right beside him.

Saiyans, as it turns out, are very good at sulking when they don't get their way. It gets old quickly, and she lets out a frustrated sigh, digging her small shovel back into the soil with a bit more force than necessary.

"Just say it already," she demands, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face with the back of her hand. "You're really pissed off at me right now because Vegeta listens to me instead of you boys."

Raditz' turns to face her, and for a tiny moment, she is terrified. He looms over her – she'd forgotten how fucking tall he actually is – and his expression is probably similar to the one he has worn on so many purging missions.

It is a cold hard reminder that she can't take for granted who he follows. Both Nappa and Raditz are loyal to Vegeta, not to her, and she doubts they will ever be.

The moment passes; Raditz snorts in that very  _Saiyan_ , dismissive way, and reaches back to scratch his neck in a move that gives her a familiar jolt because she's  _seen that before_ , on a younger Saiyan who had that same mouth, but much kinder eyes.

"I can't work out if you're just a crazy fucker leading us all to our deaths, or if your fucking nut-job plan will actually save us. Either way I have no say. I have never had any say. You come in with your  _Human_  ideals demanding Vegeta to listen to you, and what do you know, he does. You decide your fate, and mine along with it."

"It is the best chance of freedom any of us will ever have."

Raditz' laugh is cold and empty. "I don't give a shit about freedom. What freedom? Freedom is not a  _concept_  for third class Saiyans. You think my parents had the  _freedom_  to choose to ship my whelp of a brother off to your fucking shit-heap of a planet? You think I've ever had freedom in my life? Do you really think  _you_ are going to get the freedom you want out of this?"

She's angry now; she can't help it – she's never done well when someone uses that tone with her. It takes a fair amount of self-control to bite back her next comment, and she only does it because she can see how agitated Raditz is by the sharp whip of his tail through the air.

He sees it in her face, though, and steps back with a shake of his head. "If you think Vegeta's going to right all wrongs you're a fucking idiot," he tells her, and before she can move he takes to the air, sending loose soil flying in all directions with the force of his ki.

"Fuck you!" she screams after him, but it doesn't make her feel any better. Her anger isn't just aimed at Raditz, although his words leave her furious. Her anger is raw, jagged, dirty; she is angry at the universe, at every deity in existence, at Frieza, at her naïve sixteen-year-old self that used to wish for  _adventures_  and  _princes_  and  _anywhere-but-here_.

If she could go anywhere, she would go back to Earth, back to her bright pink room that she had when she was sixteen, back to her mama and papa. If she could have one wish, she would bring it all back. That is the freedom she would choose. That is the dream.

Her hands shake as she picks the last of her beans, and she is suddenly  _so_   _tired_  of pushing away her despair, but she does it anyway, because she has to, because life goes on, because things need to be done and she will not rest until she has won this fight.

She is not an _idiot_. She knows her dream is not the wish for freedom that she will get, even with the dragonballs.

Even so, with the dragonballs, with Frieza dead, she will be freer than she has been in a long time. For now, that has to be enough.

The wind whips around her in a sudden gust, shaking the vines that surround her. She dusts off her hands and picks up the bucket Raditz left lying on the ground, and continues on with the work that needs to be done.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to credit actress and performer Saraid Cameron's Drowning in Milk, of which I was lucky enough to watch an excerpt of, for the line 'raw, jagged, dirty' to describe anger. It resonated with me so much I couldn't help using it here, albeit in a completely different context.


	33. Vegeta

**Vegeta**

_Year 756_

In space once more, the ship that once felt like freedom to him now feels like a prison, and he might as well be back on Frieza's massive cruiser. Tensions run high between all four on board, and he catches himself snarling at Nappa over dinner scraps, and snapping at Raditz for no reason whatsoever. Bulma's alien nature stands out against all of this, and although she is usually brazen and fiery in her anger, he watches as she shrinks back in fear when Raditz and Nappa start an all-out brawl over cleaning duties in the small living space. He separates them quickly, knocking Raditz out cold and giving Nappa two black eyes, but it doesn't clear the overwhelming sensation that until they have the dragonballs in their hands, they have very few options open to them.

Potential wishes are another point of contention. "Immortality," he tells Bulma as they lie in bed on their eighth day back in space.

"The dragon usually has limited power; I doubt he'll be able to grant that to more than one person."

"I'm the only one who needs it," he replies. "Then I will defeat Frieza."

Bulma shakes her head, and he readies himself for an argument. "Immortality alone won't fix the current power differential between you and Frieza. He won't be able to kill you, but it could take time for you to grow powerful enough to beat him. And in that time, Frieza will just come after me, after Nappa, after Raditz. Everything that you have left will be gone."

He wants her to be wrong — wants to deny that her safety is more important than immortality — but there's no denying her logic. It maddens him, and he clenches his fists, grinding his teeth together in rage. "If I can't have that, what good is a wish?" he growls, staring up at the tiles above them.

"Super Saiyan?" she whispers. That is something he has already considered.

"It's cheating."

"How so? How do you know the first Legendary didn't use dragonballs or some other ritual to get stronger? Just because you do use the dragonballs to get strength, doesn't mean you'll win the fight. Only someone capable like you can actually wield a power in a way that can defeat Frieza, and I don't see how that's cheating. You still need to know how to fight."

He doesn't reply. They are both silent in the dark, until her hand finds his under the covers.

"It's the best thing I can think of, Vegeta," she says quietly. "Either that or just wish that Frieza was dead, anyway, and something tells me that the dragon won't grant that kind of wish."

"We still need to find the dragonballs first. We need confirmation that they exist before you send us on a wild goose chase to Namek."

"They exist," she says through a yawn, curling her body against his. "But we'll get the parts I need for the radar tomorrow, and then I can prove it to you, and you'll think 'Oh my gosh, my girlfriend is the most beautiful, brilliant scientist that ever existed in the history of the universe, I am the luckiest man alive, I should worship her —"

"Now you're just talking nonsense." But his tail curls tight around her waist, pulling her closer still, and the warmth of her against him is a comfort he appreciates more than she will ever know.

. . .

Roltrom is a large, barren asteroid located on the outer belt of the Nivus System, and known as a place to procure black market goods. He's only ever heard of the place; it doesn't exist on any official maps or databases, and the coordinates were given to him years ago by some dodgy dealer he met on a backwater planet. By some miracle it checks out, and he lands their ship in the run-down port on its underside. Unlike PTO-owned property, there's no air traffic control or border guards, and the parking is first-in, first-served.

"I think we need face masks," Bulma mutters beside him. "Doesn't look like there's any breathable atmosphere."

She's right; he can see from the odd passerby outside that they all wear oxygen tanks of some kind. Behind them, Raditz begins to laugh.

"Looks like Nappa will be staying put! Those standard issue masks don't fit over his big head!"

Vegeta can practically feel Nappa's anger rising. Bulma notices it too, spinning around to face the other men and waving her arms in her usual erratic gesturing. "It's fine, it's fine! I bought him one ages ago, back on our last supply run. I've got it in a capsule."

"What? You bought me face mask?"

"Yeah, and a full atmospheric suit in your size. I got one for each of us in case of emergencies or places like this. What, did you think I'd just leave you guys out? We're in this together. I've told you this before; I made sure we have survival suits on board for everyone."

Nappa looks as though Bulma has just spoken is some foreign language. Very slowly, a his skin begins to flush red, moving up his neck to his face. Vegeta has only seen this reaction from Nappa a handful of times in his life, and knows it's a signal that Nappa is feeling overly  _moved_ and  _emotional_ about something.

"You're a decent bitch," Nappa tells her. Vegeta glances at Raditz and sees his own surprise mirrored there; in Nappa-speak that is  _very_ high praise.

"Thanks." Bulma takes a deep breath, and then takes control of the strange mood, as she often does. "I'll go dig out that capsule then. No one open that door until we're fully suited up! Oh, and obviously we need to make sure we  _don't_ look like defectors from the Planet Trade Organisation, so make sure you wear your plain black boots and the  _uncomfortable_  spandex that you boys all cried about last time you tried it on. It's just for a few hours so you'll survive, and..."

Her voice echoes through the ship as she heads for her lab, her lecture continuing on. "Does she think we're still listening?" Raditz asks, and despite himself Vegeta feels the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile.

. . .

He accompanies Bulma to the junkyard. The oxygen mask is helpful in one sense; he can't smell any of the rotten garbage that lines the muddy streets, and for that he is thankful. "I was looking forward to fresh air," Bulma complains, and he shakes his head.

"Just be thankful they actually have gravity generators running here. This place is a dump."

She has assured him she only needs a few parts; things that she can easily acquire from the remains of old ships. "If I could cannibalise our own ship that would be easy," she had earlier told him, "but it'd also be totally counter-productive. I need to make use of the location devices, and that's what guides our ship."

They head for the spray-painted sign that says 'Ship Repairs and Other Shit', and Bulma turns to him. "Do you think the guys will be okay?"

"They're at a brothel, not a cage fight. They'll be fine."

"Are you implying that Saiyans wouldn't be ok in a cage fight?"

He catches the wary gaze of a passer-by and urges Bulma on with a gentle push in the middle of her back. " _No_ , and keep quiet, someone could be listening." She frowns, but doesn't disagree with him for once.

Bulma finds what she needs without trouble, but haggling for an acceptable price is another matter entirely.

"Ya pay more out 'ere," the shop owner, a weak Brenchian male sneers at them after rejecting Bulma's final offer. "That's how ya stay off the grid. My guess is ya're out 'ere 'cause you have to be. Ya wouldn't want anyone to track ya 'ere, now would ya?"

Vegeta doesn't appreciate the implied threat. He grabs the man by the throat and pushes him back against the wall, applying just the right amount of pressure on the windpipe to make his warning count. "I don't like that tone of yours," he growls, tightening his grip a little more. The man's orange skin pales beneath his own mask.

"Ach-s-sorry. Just kidding with ya."

Vegeta drops him on the ground. "Take our price," he orders. He is thankful for the oxygen mask; as annoying as it is to wear, it obscures his face and hair, and with his tail hidden there's nothing visible that could identify him.

The Brenchian wheezes on the ground, nodding slowly. "Price accepted."

_. . ._

They return to the ship after shopping for food supplies. He's fucking starving, having been unable to eat with the mask on his face. How anyone can bear to live on the asteroid, locking themselves in tiny oxygen-filled cubicles to eat and sleep and fuck, is beyond him.

Bulma stands beside him in the airlock, resting her head on his shoulder as they wait for the oxygen levels to stabilize. He tears off his mask as soon as the airlock timer beeps, and as the internal doors open, a woman's scream pierces the air. Bulma grips his arm tight in shock, cursing in one of her Earth languages.

"What the fuck is going on?" he yells, stepping through the threshold, practically dragging Bulma with him.

"Nothing. We're just being over-dramatic," Raditz says, his arms wrapped tightly around a woman who thrashes in his arms, his hand clamped tight around her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is up to date! I've now caught this fic up to the version on Fanfiction.net, so if you prefer to use A03 these days, please go ahead and continue to read on here. From now on I'll update on both sites simultaneously.


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